An Ordinary Tuesday in Chicago
by sirpopeglittertits2
Summary: I woke up at 2:30 this morning with an idea in my brain. So I wrote it out. It's a slash fic, basically smut with an inkling of a plot. Don't like, don't read. If you don't like it and read it anyway thinking 'fuck it' I'm sorry. Even if you do like it, I'm SORRY. God is VERY angry with me—A Peter Benton/Robert Romano fic
1. Tuesday

It was a lovely Tuesday afternoon in Chicago.

Specifically, Cook County General Hospital.

The sun was out.

The birds were chirping.

The patients were...patienting.

And, like any other Tuesday afternoon, our well-known surgical hero, Peter Benton, wanted to hit our OTHER well-known surgical hero, Robert Romano with his fucking car.

Having been on since 5 that morning and having absolutely none of whatever shit life, or more specifically, Dr. Romano, had to offer that day, he slammed open the door to Romano's office with reckless abandon.

"You slimey, arrogant little prick!!" He roared at the man sitting behind the desk, clad in navy blue scrubs, working on a pretty sizeable stack of paperwork.

"Well good afternoon to you too Peter!" The other surgeon replied from behind the desk, faking pleasantries. "What brings you by on a nice day like this? Aren't there consults you should be making?"

"You had no right to go and take that damn case! I was on it from the moment he was rolled into the E.R.! You had better things to do than stealing that AAA and you know it!!" Peter griped in his usual bitchy tone.

"Actually, Peter, that's where you're wrong. And I wouldn't call it stealing that AAA as much as I'd call it taking it off your hands. As Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery I in fact have every right to take any surgery off your hands, so why don't you just run along and see if little Carter needs your help diagnosing an appe." Romano said with a grin, remaining complacent. Peter was having none of it, as previously stated.

He shut the door from where he had slammed it open against the wall, then turned back to the man at the desk who looked at him with a mix of slight exhaustion and amusement. 'Oh boy, here we go...'

"You stole the case from me just to piss me off, you petty, horrid little bastard." Peter said in a low voice, staring the man down. Robert shifted slightly, uncomfortable with his intensity. 'What gives, it's just a AAA!'.

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. And if I did, it's certainly done it's job. Congratulations, Peter, you've got me all figured out! What do ya want, a freaking medal?" Romano said, getting up from behind the desk to stand in front of the taller man. To say that he wished he had an extra inch in this moment would be an understatement.

"He was my patient. You do this all the time, I'm sick of your shit! You ought to fetch your own damn cases once and a while instead of mooching off of what all the other end up with!" Peter snarled, getting closer to the man, still staring him down. Romano didn't back up.

"I don't know what's gotten up your ass today, but last I checked, I can pull rank on your ass at the drop of a hat. You keep talking to me like that and you'll be out on your ass. Get your panties out of their twist and get the fuck out of my office before you do something you're gonna regret." Robert said, his voice getting especially low on the last few words. Peter only stepped closer. They were only about 5 inches away from each other at this point.

"Stop riding my ass." Peter said simply, his voice toeing the line between whispering and speaking. Romano stepped closer this time.

"Get out of my face, before I call security in on this. Dr. Benton..." he said lowly, staring the other man right in the eye.

"Make me." The taller, darker surgeon said simply. The two were practically nose to nose.

What happened next is a bit of a blur. No one's sure who originated it, who reciprocated it, when, or even why. But it happened.

One thing led to another, and Romano ended up shoved against the wall of his office, kissing Peter like it'd be the only thing supplying air to his lungs and blood to his organs, his hands gripping the fabric of his scrub shirt like a life line. A hand on the back of the shorter man's bald head, another underneath his scrub shirt, feeling it's way up his abdomen, across his chest and back down again, Peter explored the terrain of his mouth feverishly, seeming to forget all about that damn AAA.

Hands wandered, gripping at clothing, as the two continued in this merry way. Not to break the fourth wall or anything, but like I said, this is just an ordinary Tuesday in Chicago.

One thing led to the next, and soon, our well-known surgical hero, Peter Benton, had our other well-known surgical hero, Robert Romano's scrub pants untied in a second, letting them fall around his ankles as he kissed from his ear down his strong jawline.

His mouth roamed down his neck, nipping at the surprisingly soft skin there. He then fell to his knees, pulling down the shorter man's boxers, letting them fall around his ankles as well.

Romano had to grip the wall to keep his knees from buckling as the other surgeon stroked his swollen member, taking all of him into his mouth. He moaned softly, bringing a hand down to run his fingers through Peter's short hair, praising his efforts. His hips rocked to their own accord as the taller surgeon sucked and licked up and down his length, and at the back of his mind, he wondered just how the fuck he found himself here.

Much to Robert's disappointment, Peter took his mouth away from his throbbing hardness and stood back up, kissing him hard. He turned around briefly, and for a beat, Romano thought he was going to leave, inform HR of what the fuck just happened, and give himself the last laugh.

But no. Instead, he pressed the lock on the door handle, turning his attention back to the bald surgeon behind him.

"I suppose this is the part where we have a heated, boss-to-subordinate discussion about discipline in the workplace?" Romano joked, giving Peter his usual smug grin.

The taller surgeon walked up to Romano, slow, almost threateningly. He looked into his eyes, detecting amusement mixed with desire.

"No more games, Dr. Romano. If you're smart, you'll stop..." he warned, his dark eyes boring into Robert's own coffee-colored orbs.

"I'll never stop, Dr. Benton..." he said, his expression mirroring Peter's intense gaze.

Peter crashed his mouth to his, pulling him close. Robert didn't stop him, even when he got backed against his own desk by the taller surgeon.

His hands found the tie to Peter's scrub pants, untying them, leaving them to fall around the other's ankles just like he'd done before.

Romano's hand brushed over the impressive bulge in his briefs, before reaching inside, stroking his length, mirroring his actions. As Peter's tongue brushed over the roof of his mouth, his hand sought out a small bottle of hand lotion in the corner of his boss's desk, pumping out a small dollop.

He pushed two slick fingers into the other man, drawing a desperate moan from him as he leaned against his desk, legs spread slightly as Peter slid them in and out of his entrance, slowly. With his free hand, Romano pulled at the neck of Peter's scrub shirt, wanting, no, needing him to do something else, something more.

Withdrawing his fingers, Peter pulled down his briefs, spreading the hand lotion evenly up and down his own length, before pushing Romano even closer to him against his desk, gathering his ass in his hands, his slick member lined up against him.

Slowly, painfully slowly, he pushed his hard member, inch by inch, into the man as he pulled him even closer, wrapping his legs around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders, mouth against the crook of his neck to keep himself from drawing too much attention to anyone who might be lurking outside his office. Not that anything out there, in this moment, mattered to him anyway. Right now, it felt like him and Peter were the only two men in the world. And he was fine with that.

Our well-known surgical hero, Peter Benton, began pounding into our other well-known surgical hero, Robert Romano again and again and again and again, making the desk rock and creak slightly, like it might just give way. Much like the man in Peter's arms, trembling with pleasure as his moans and groans of appreciation muffled against his neck.

As the two continued on in this lovely way, the slow, rhythmic movements of their hips against each other soon became faster and faster as they each got closer to oblivion.

Romano cried out, his spent rolling out of him and all over Peter's scrub top as he held on to him for dear life. The other man growled and sped up even more, his teeth sinking into the shorter man's neck.

Robert brought his head up slightly to whisper in the other's ear. "_If you come inside of me I swear to God, you're fired..._"

For once, he listened, pulling out of him roughly, his release getting all over Romano's thighs and belly, and even on his desk.

They neglected to move away from each other, still panting and flushed from their exertions.

Not a sound could be heard except for their labored breathing, and the soft ticking of a clock on Romano's wall.

"Point taken..." Robert finally said, gazing at Peter, smiling weakly.

And for the first time on that ordinary Tuesday in Chicago, Peter smiled back at him, shaking his head slightly.

"You're going to have to start stealing my surgeries more often." Peter said, humor lilting in his voice.

"Yes. I suppose I will have to start taking more surgeries off your hands, Dr. Benton. You're absolutely right." He stated daringly. Peter glared at him, humor still in his eyes.

Yup. Just an ordinary Tuesday afternoon. In Chicago.


	2. TuesdayAgain

**This was supposed to be a one shot. I swear to god it was. But then I got this other idea and...well...**

It was yet another lovely Tuesday in Chicago, in our beloved Cook County General Hospital, this time in the wee hours of the morning.

The city lights were still shining against the dark, gloomy sky that awaited the first signs of dawn.

A psych patient had just gotten loose from her restraints and terrorized the cafeteria, because where's Haldol when you really need it?

And Robert Romano, fresh out of spending over 24 hours in that wretched cesspool, slaving for HOURS over patients who had the audacity to code while he was on, forcing him to endure 3 back-to-back emergency surgeries that left one guy dead and some other poor schmuck with a missing kidney.

On top of all the administrative shit that he was obligated to do.

What the hell had jumped into his head to take this wretched position in the first place?!

Exhausted, Robert managed to get his legs to carry him away from all the mind numbing paper work sitting on his desk, down the hall, and to the men's locker room.

Stripping off his navy blue scrubs, shoes, and everything else in between and leaving it in a discernible heap, he stormed off to the first shower he laid eyes on, turning the water on almost as hot as it could go, reveling in its heated spray. His broad shoulders relaxed for the first time in over a day as he focused on something other than his own miserable weariness or yet another dying patient.

His head cleared as he thought about nothing much apart from the hot water pelting his skin.

Suddenly, a new sensation welcomed itself within his reception. One so foreign to him, it took a few seconds to register.

Two arms wrapped themselves around him, startling him out of his reverie.

"Shit!!" Romano yowled, turning around quick, a little too quick, causing him to just barely miss the soap dish that was bound to the shower wall with his fat head. He backed himself against the front wall, trying to fix his eye in the offending being.

Low and behold, it...he, rather, was Peter.

_Shit_.

"P-Peter..." Robert started, sounding a little bit flustered for his own taste.

"Dr. Romano." The other surgeon stated, equally as bare. His dark eyes raked down the body of the shorter man, traveling down from his own eyes, down to his chest, his stomach, and lower, all the way down to his feet, and back up to his lips, which were parted slightly in surprise.

Shifting a little from the other man's appraisal of his indecent appearance, Romano pulled his best poker face, doing his best not to give him the satisfaction of making him squirm that he knew he craved.

"Well, Peter, I believe an explanation is in order, unless you always prowl into random guys' showers whenever you've caught a break in your schedule. What's brought you in?"

Peter's eyes bored into Romano's as he leaned gingerly against the shower wall.

"You snapped at me in OR today. A lot. In front of a lot of other people..." Benton said lowly, looking down briefly to the floor. "And after last week's discussion, I was wondering if you'd like to talk about that. With no one else to butt in. _Boss to subordinate_..." Benton continued, picking his gaze back up to Romano's eyes, which were now fixed towards his feet, a noticeable blush creeping its way across his cheeks, spreading to his ears as the memories he'd been trying to block from his mind in OR came rushing like a tidal wave. He couldn't bring himself to look back up at the man. He turned his back to Benton, looking at the wall.

Maybe he could just pretend like he wasn't there, and he'd get the hint and leave, right?

And for a second Romano tricked himself into thinking it was working.

That is until a strong pair of hands connected themselves to his shoulders, massaging his tight muscles, easing the day's tension away with slow, deliberate movements. As much as he tried, he just couldn't bite back the soft moan the other's efforts drew from him. He relaxed against his hands. '_What the hell does he want?_' He wondered in the delirium the other man's touch brought to him, coupled with his fatigue.

Despite Romano keeping as quiet as a mouse, Peter continued.

"You know, I've been thinking a lot about what happened last week..." he murmured, stepping closer to the surgeon, still working out the kinks in his shoulders, leaving him barely able to concentrate over his words over the pure ecstasy caused by his touch. "And I don't think I'm comfortable with the way we left things."

"Really! Well then riddle me this; what, with all due respect, the _hell_ are you doing here then?!" Romano asked, still flushed from the other's hands on him. '_Dammit, does he have to be so damn persistent...and so damn strong?!_'

Peter brought his mouth closer, much closer to Romano then, right next to his ear.

"Let's just say I'm not a fan of unfinished business..." he whispered, making him shudder with anticipation.

Romano turned around, suddenly noticing he was only two or three inches away from the man.

"Who says it went unfinished?" He whispered back. He met Benton's eyes again. '_Man that stare. You'd think he's trying to suck my soul straight from my skull with that stare..._'

Suddenly, he got even closer. He brought a hand up to Robert's chin, stroking his jawline up and down, his touch surprisingly soft for someone so intense.

"_I'm not finished with you, Romano. _Not by a long shot." He leaned down then, slowly, until his lips met Robert's, pulling the bald surgeon into the softest kiss he'd ever had. His tongue traced his lips, asking permission. Romano opened his mouth to the man, holding onto his neck, playing with his short black hair as the kiss deepened.

It wasn't like it'd been back in the office last week. _No_. It was slower, less frantic, unleashing hidden wants and needs neither of the two had ever known they'd had before as their tongues slid through each other's mouths, exploring, taking their time. Hands wandered, discovering how the other would react from being touched _here_ or _there_ or _somewhere else. _

The kiss broke as Romano tore his lips away from the taller surgeon, moaning loudly as Peter's hand once again found his arousal, stroking gently, running his thumb along its sensitive tip. His breathing picked up, an otherworldly form of pleasure filling him to the brim, pooling in his gut, making him feel hot and tingly all over. No one had ever touched him like this. His knees felt weak as Peter continued, moving his hand up and down, while moving his lips down to the hollow of his collar, tasting his warm, freckled skin.

After a few beats Romano moved his hand down, stroking the other man's engorged member, trying to mimic his rhythm. His hips rocked gently against Peter's hand until he felt like he might explode.

"_Peter_..." he moaned, his voice filled with desire. "Please don't stop, I'm going to come..."

He was soon muffled by Peter's lips against his own, keeping his carnal cry from being heard by unwelcome ears. They were, after all, in a rather busy hospital.

Benton pressed kisses against Romano's cheeks, neck, temples, anything to will him on as he dragged him closer and closer towards his own release.

Peter kissed him hard, cradling his head in one hand as he came into his hand, shaking with pleasure.

They both slid to the floor panting, leaning against the wall, against each other in a warm afterglow. The hot spray of shower water enveloping the two in steam.

Peter absent mindedly ran his fingers up and down Robert's thigh. "I'm very glad we had this discussion, Dr. Romano," he said, looking back at the shorter man, a certain glint in his eyes as he smiled at him lazily.

Robert gave him a smile of his own. "Me too, Dr. Benton." He sighed, then grabbing Peter's hand and lacing his own fingers with his from where it was, tracing his thigh. "Me too."

Tuesdays in Chicago are fuckin' wild, man...


	3. MiseryLovesCompany

**This idea popped into my brain at 3am. And when I say popped into my brain I mean LITERALLY popped into my brain.**

**Beginning to think this thing's got a kind of it's own...**

**Not particularly as sexy as the last two, so if you're only here for that, wait for the next chapter.**

It was a dark, stormy night in Chicago, the following Tuesday of our two favorite surgeons' previous discussion. It was pissing down with rain, everything smelled like sulfur, and lightning lit up the sky, the sound of thunder shaking the foundations of the largest buildings.

The sun wasn't out.

The birds from chapter one probably fucking drowned.

80% of the patients in the hospital were there due to various strains of influenza and were using up every last clean emesis basin, thermometer, and set of sheets County had.

And just GUESS who one of those patients happened to be...

Dr. Robert Romano sat back in his room, hooked up to an IV, flaming mad. Granted, it was one of the best rooms the damned cesspool had to offer, mostly because if he were given anything less SOMEONE would have hell to pay.

Okay. So he'd come down with the flu. Big deal.

So he'd also been spending a little more time than what was healthy at that damn hospital within his first 8 hours of infection. A double shift with plenty of patients to keep him busy in surgery, to be fair. And after all that, honest to god, he was about to pick up and leave as soon as he started feeling more on the crappy side. He really was.

But, as luck would fuck him, he was at the front desk on the surgical floor, signing off on some things, about to grab a stack of unfinished paperwork to take care of as he'd probably be indisposed for at least a few day. And he would've gotten away with it too, if that meddling charge nurse Shirley hadn't noticed his slight swaying, his clinging to the desk to keep his balance, and made a "polite suggestion" to get checked out.

He tried. He really tried. But with a temp a little over 102 and swollen lymph nodes, Romano soon found himself with what was at least an all expense paid overnight stay in Fuck City; population around 450 and swelling like an infected blister.

Tired, miserable, and bored out of his skull, Robert toyed with the cotton sheet covering him with his fingers, wishing to God, Allah, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, WHATEVER that he was home, on his couch, watching old M*A*S*H reruns and sipping tea in his comfortable sweatpants and a T-shirt instead of this crumby looking patient gown that was open in the back, leaving his almost bare ass hanging out whenever he got up for the bathroom.

He shut his eyes, praying that he'd fall asleep within seconds, despite that it was only 8:15, or that he'd open them again and find himself somewhere, ANYWHERE else apart from the cold white room around him.

He was so desperate, he'd even rather be in Mexico right now.

Suddenly, something spooked him out of his reverie. His eyes flew open to observe the offending force, as his temper started to flare back up. It soon turned to slight shock and surprise as his red rimmed, tired eyes focused on the disturbance.

Peter Fucking Benton.

'_Oh my god, he's everywhere_.'

"Dr. Benton! My, my, do you seem to have a proclivity to sneak up on people. And quite creepily, might I add!" He snarked at the other surgeon, who was taking in his rough appearance. His eyes wandered still down to his lips, then up to his dark eyes, before speaking.

"I've only got that proclivity on special occasions. Like when the mighty Romano has succumbed to something as ridiculous as the flu." He explained, grinning slightly. Robert just glared at him.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." He murmured lowly, his gaze falling down to his hands. '_Great. Fantastic. I'm sick as a dog, stuck at Cook FUCKING County, and I've got Peter staring me down like he's a diabetic and I'm a hot fudge sundae_'

The last week or so, working around each other...was interesting to say the least.

Nothing came close to that morning in the locker room shower. Intense eye contact over bleeding patients in the OR. Maybe some hot and heavy stuff in the elevator. A swift kiss in an empty lounge. Hell, Peter'd even grabbed his ass while he was scrubbing in for a bowel resection as he was walking by for some soap.

But _nothing_ met last week. Hell, Romano wasn't sure if anything they ever did again _could_ meet last week.

The weird bald man's thoughts were rudely interrupted by a warm hand on his forehead. Resisting Peter's meddling, he tried to back away, but Benton wasn't having any of it.

"Stay still, you little shit." He said, though concern covered his face. Romano held the other's wrist with his right hand, gripping it firmly. His eyes met Benton's, annoyed.

"Call me little one more time and so help me you'll be demoted to desk clerk, _Dr. Benton_." He warned, frowning slightly. The hand moved from his forehead to his sideburn, gently playing with the hair there with his fingertips.

"You feel warm. They been giving you enough ibuprofen?" Peter fret, still stroking the man's hair.

"The hell do you care?" Romano bit back, sick of being fussed over. "Don't you have better things to do than loitering around, questioning my health?"

Peter ignored him, reaching over to snag his chart, skimming through it.

"Pretty high temp." Peter noted, brow furrowed. "When's the last time someone's come to check on you?"

"4 hours ago. There's roughly a billion other patients in this hospital just like me, you know." Robert stated, fixing Peter with a glare.

"You have anything to eat?" He fussed, yet again, putting the chart down to look at him.

"_Fuck off_, Mom." Robert growled, staring at the worried man grumpily.

Peter reaches into his bag that he carried with him, sifting through paperwork and God knows what else, withdrawing a small bottle, pills rattling noisily within. He tossed it to Romano haphazardly, who just barely caught it before it could have hit his stupid face.

"Take two of these. They'll reduce your fever a bit, keeping your pea sized little brain from cooking." Benton said half joking, but mostly demanding him.

"You're not the boss of me." Romano spat at Peter, tossing the bottle back at him, leaving it to tap his chest, making a loud crack against the floor, pills rattling as it rolled away from the two. Robert just stared at it, a little too proud of his defiance for his own good.

"Now if you're as smart as you like to think you are, you're gonna pick up that bottle, walk right out that door and leave me the hell alone. I don't want your pity or your stupid Tylenol, so you can just get the hell—."

Romano's protests were cut short by Peter's lips colliding with his own, his tongue forcing its way into his mouth. He cradled the back of his bald head as Romano pulled on the fabric of his button-down shirt, his snide comment reduced to nothing more than a whimper against the taller man's lips.

Benton pulled away after a few moments, looking him in the eyes.

"Take. The damn. Pills. You little brat." He said sternly, voice getting so low it even surprised Romano, his hand still holding his head.

Peter moved away from the other man, to retrieve the discarded bottle, twisted it open, poured out a couple of pills, and distributed them into Romano's hand, watching him intently. He didn't hesitate to swallow them both.

He looked up at Peter, defeated. Weariness evident in his soft brown eyes.

Peter set his bag down on the floor by the bed. Turning his attention back to Romano, he planted a kiss on the top of his bald head, right where the soft light from his bedside lamp reflected off it. He then toed off his shoes, leaving them forgotten on the floor.

"Scoot over." He commanded to the man in the bed, earning a scared look from him.

"Someone's bound to come in, Peter. They'll talk till their lips fall off." He said, warningly. The other man unbuttoned his shirt, leaving his undershirt on. He lifted the sheet up to crawl in with Robert.

"Well, like you said, there's roughly a billion other people in this hellhole with the same thing as you. I'm sure whoever's on won't be in any hurry." He wrapped his arm around the shorter man, drawing him towards his chest. He gave up the fight, resting his head on Peter, listening to his slow, steady heartbeat, feeling a hell of a lot more tired all of a sudden.

"This'd be an administrative nightmare for me you know. HR up my ass, not to mention the rumor mill..." Peter hushed him, pushing his hands through the opening in his gown, running his palm across the smooth skin on his back. He sighed, feeling like he could melt into his touch.

"I'll never hear the end of it. It'll go great with my sexual harassment allegations..." Romano continued, his words barely coherent as he was drifting off, his mouth muffled against the man's chest. Peter just gave his head another soft kiss, rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades.

"Thank you." He finally whispered, letting sleep get ahold of him.


	4. MrFletcher

**Based off of episode 2 in season 7; Sand And Water**

**Plot bunnies keep springing up in my brain like coronavirus patients throughout the US. **

**If any of y'all are actually taking the time to read this weirdness, RR.**

This time, it was a gorgeous Thursday afternoon in Chicago, in Cook County General Hospital.

The sun was back out.

The birds that didn't drown from last week's storm were chirping away.

And one of our little surgical heroes, Peter Benton, was searching the hospital for our other, even more little surgical hero, Robert Romano.

Sadly, it wasn't for the same reason as the last couple of times.

"Romano!" He exclaimed when he finally saw the man, about to board the elevator with a patient. He looked up upon hearing the other man's voice, keeping a surprisingly straight face in the public setting even though his heart skipped a beat or two as soon as he laid eyes on him. Oh the way he'd greet him if they were alone together. Clad in those blue scrubs he loved to see him in, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't just a little too thrilled to see him.

That was, until, he opened his mouth.

"What business do you have blocking one of my patients from getting surgery on your orders?" Benton questioned, looking down at him with that usual pissyness they always had when it came to them and patients.

They could yap for hours about any other topic in the world. They really could.

But when it came to patients, surgical diagnoses, virtually ANYTHING to do with that damn hospital, dear God could they bicker to the point of nearly clawing each other's eyes out with their bare hands.

Otherwise, they'd always made their usual banter with each other, but remained decent to one another. Out from behind closed doors, anyway.

"Nice to see you too, Peter! My day is going fabulous, by the way. How goes it with you?" He said. '_Why can't the guy ever just start off with a simple hello_?' Benton merely glared at him.

"Don't play dumb with me. You know you're only doing it because he's an uninsured frequent flyer, you vindictive little jerk." He grumbled.

"Well Peter, I'd sure love to help you on this, but before I can do that, let's start by figuring out who the hell this guy even is, shall we?" Robert replied sweetly, snatching the chart Benton held in one hand, making the man glare at him even harder.

He skimmed through the chart, frowning at the name.

"Mr. Fletcher? Well now I know why I blocked it. The hospital doesn't need any more liabilities like him," Romano said, unsympathetic for the patient's current situation. He shoved the chart back into Peter's hands as if it had insulted him. "I am done carrying these parasites. Send him somewhere else."

And with that, he went to board the elevator, when Benton grabbed him firmly by the shoulder, all but forcing him to turn and face the tall surgeon.

"You wouldn't want me to go and report this, would you? After all, you'd have to pay a pretty hefty fine for a stunt like this. _Dr. Romano_." Peter said, threatening the man. Robert's satisfied, haughty expression changed completely. He walked away from the elevator, motioning to Peter to follow him.

The two burst into an empty exam room, earning plenty of looks from the rest of the E.R. staff. As soon as the door shut and the blinds were drawn, the nurses and E.R. docs immediately started a betting pool as to which one of them would be found strangled to death in that exam room later in the day.

In the privacy of the exam room, Peter started back up again. Romano pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, pacing through the small room in annoyance. This time the tables had turned. It was he who was having none of Peter's shit today.

"So that's what's sparked your interest. Money. To hell for the Hippocratic Oath, right?"

"I had my fingers crossed!" Romano bit back, glaring at Benton, his brow knitted in anger. "The man is a financial burden to this hospital and you know it! Once he gets this surgery he's just gonna keep coming on back! He all but purposefully misses his dialysis and just expects the hospital budget to pick up his slack!"

"Frequent flyer or not, he's still one of our patients."

Romano tossed over a suture tray that was set up in the room, resulting in a loud crash that caused both of their ears to ring terribly.

"**He is an UNNECESSARY EXPENSE ON MY HOSPITAL!!!**" He shouted, making Peter flinch slightly. He refused to back down.

Benton stepped closer to the fuming surgeon, who was so damn angry he could practically burn the other man if he came too close. Their eyes met in yet another intense staring match.

"No. He's not. He is one of our patients and he needs a new damn shunt. I couldn't care less if he has the money for the thing or not," he stepped even closer, leaning down slightly to accommodate the other man's height, getting right in his face.

"Take. Him. Up." His voice got deliciously low as it did when he was talking to Robert.

Romano shook his head slightly, utterly exasperated at Benton's persistence.

"Or what?" He challenged back, already knowing the answer.

"Or I'm gonna get the inspector general on your ass and throw you through one hell of an audit." He threatened.

"You're blackmailing me." Romano growled, voice getting equally as low, piercing brown eyes locked with Peter's intense glare that was challenging, almost begging him to test him further.

"Maybe I am." The tall, dark surgeon retorted, getting so close now to Romano that he could feel the heat coming off him. Hell, he could even smell him. His sweet cologne intoxicating the shorter man, serving as a slight distraction to his indescribable anger towards him.

Benton reached up a hand to Romano's chiseled jaw, stroking it gently, barely touching it at all, up and down, as the other man shut his eyes briefly, the sensation causing him to shiver. His eyes opened again, his anger slowly breaking down, no matter how much he wanted not to show it, as he was slowly being undone with his hands.

"What the hell are you gonna do about it,_ Dr. Romano_?" He whispered, chocolate-colored eyes hypnotizing the bald surgeon. He blushed, hard, his hatred dissolving with his self control.

Looking down briefly at Peter's lips, Robert was at a total loss for words. Logically, there seemed to be only one way to proceed.

Romano's lips collided with Benton's in a rough, sloppy kiss, taking him by surprise, being the first to move this time. Teeth clashed and nipped at lips. Hands pulling at clothes like they have only a few times before as the two got just about as close to each other as humanly possible, tasting each other, the tension finally proving too much on our surgical heroes.

Romano's hands slid under Benton's shirt, running them up and down his sides in appreciation, feeling his ribs with his fingertips, reveling in the feeling of his oh so soft skin. Peter sighed into the kiss, pulling him closer, yanking on his lab coat, pulling at the thick white fabric.

Next thing both of them knew, Romano was pushed against the wall, Benton trailing kisses across his jaw, against his earlobe, down his neck. He moaned as Peter found his Adam's Apple, sucking gently as it bobbed from his vocalizations.

"_Peter_." He groaned, the feeling almost too much to take. "You're killing me." The other man laughed slightly, his hot breath against his neck as he did.

Peter then deftly loosened the man's tie with his long, slender fingers. Perfect for surgery. Not to mention...

Robert shrugged out of his heavy lab coat as Peter found his lips again, his tongue tasting every corner of his mouth it could reach. Hands pulled at shirts, soon leaving the two bare chested and gasping for air. Peter raked his eyes over the man in front of him, lips kiss swollen, eyes filled with wanting. Romano did the same, taking in the man's appearance. '_Fuck me, he's definitely been working out_...'

His observation of the man's toned biceps and broad chest was interrupted when Peter lowered his mouth to his own chest, pressing kisses against his sternum. He panted as he found his way across his chest to one of his hard nipples, covering it with his mouth, suckling at the nub, teasing the other with his fingers.

Romano sank his teeth into his forearm, while his other hand ran through Peter's hair, caressing and guiding his head, encouraging him. It was all he could do to keep himself from crying out in pleasure. Oh if only they didn't have to keep so damn quiet all of the time.

Peter fell slowly got to his knees, moving from his chest to his stomach, which moved up and down with his labored breathing. He kissed and licked around his navel, reaching his belt. He undid it with ease, pulling down both the man's slacks and boxers at once. Romano's engorged prick sprang free.

He saw stars as Peter wrapped his lips around his neglected member, swirling his tongue in circles around the tip as fast he could. A noise escaped his mouth that sounded almost inhuman as he moved, hips rocking, against his mouth. He pulled away for a moment.

"Shh. Stay quiet, or I swear to God, I'll stop." He warned.

"Don't stop." Romano sighed. He felt his stomach clench delightfully as he leaned his head back against the wall, losing himself in the feeling of Peter's tongue.

He pulled away after a bit, sensing that the other man was close.

Standing back up, he kissed Romano, his tongue caressing the other man's as he tasted himself.

"_God you taste amazing_..." Benton sighed once he'd pulled away, his forehead resting against Robert's.

The other man pulled away briefly, toeing out of his loafers and lowered pants to dig into the pockets of his lab coat, which lay forgotten on the floor. He retrieved a small bottle from its interior, where he'd placed it so no one would accidentally see it.

"Since when do you—?" Peter began, a little more than surprised.

"Let's just say I've been feeling lucky." Romano explained, grinning slightly. He moved to untie Benton's scrub pants, pulling them down with his boxers, leaving him equally as bare. He licked his lips as he let himself observe his naked form. His eyes flicked to his erection, newly felt muscles clenching as he observed its size.

He let himself be guided to the exam bed behind them, lying down as Peter fixed himself over him. Benton spread his legs like Nutella on bread, pushing a slick finger inside of him. He moaned softly as he hit _just_ the right spot inside of him, teasing it with his finger tip. He scratched Peter's back, desperately wanting him to take him, right there in that exam room.

"Be patient. You'll get it soon." Benton said softly in his ear, kissing one of his crimson cheeks.

Adding another finger, then another, Romano was surprised he could even keep himself conscious as waves of pleasure hit him like a freight train. The taller surgeon kept pushing him oh so close to oblivion, then pulling him back again, slowing down, pausing to press kisses on his lips.

After what seemed like an eternity, Benton stroked his own length with the slick substance, slowly, as Romano watched, starving for him. "Give it to me," he pleaded, unable to take it anymore.

Inch by inch, he slowly pushed into him as Romano held on for dear life, wrapping his legs around his waist. His nails dug into his flesh as Peter worked himself into him, stretching him, as he tightened around him.

He began to thrust in and out of him, slowly picking up his rhythm. Robert sucked and nipped at the taller surgeon's neck to keep his his noises of approval at bay. He swore he could feel the other man's movements in his spine.

"_Peter_..." he whined as the man picked up the pace, close to his own release. He repeated his name once, twice, three more times as he was rocked closer to his own climax, legs tightening around him, claiming him.

"Peter!!" He cried as he came hard. A few more hard strokes and Benton followed suit, pulling out of him and erupting with a low groan all over Romano's stomach.

It wasn't until the flush had long faded from their skin, and they'd gotten their slightly crumpled clothes back on when Romano had piped up, catching Peter's hand as soon as it hit the doorknob, earning himself a look of slight confusion. Romano looked down and blushed.

"I've been wanting to ask you something, but, I wasn't sure when I'd get the chance to do it," he hastily began, his blush getting darker with every passing second. "I...I was wondering...err..." he was stumbling over his words as Peter caressed his cheek, stroking just under his eye with his thumb.

"Go on." He urged him softly.

He took a breath and continued, looking him right in the eyes, despite wanting the floor to swallow him whole before he made a complete fool of himself.

"I was wondering if, you're not to busy...if you'd consider going out some night. This week. For dinner." '_FUCK_.'

Benton looked at him, his expression unreadable.

The shorter man looked down quickly, pulling away from his touch.

"Oh God. Just forget I said anything—." He was interrupted by a soft kiss on his lips, shutting him up before he could stammer any more.

"I would love to," Peter said once he'd pulled away, smiling down at the man. Romano beamed back at him. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. I am." He said, smiling so hard his dimples showed. Benton leaned down attacked them both with kisses, reducing him to giggles as he did.

"Excellent. Tomorrow night. I get off at 7. You?"

"7."

"Well then it's settled." Benton agreed, still smiling at the bald man. Those two fucks had forgotten all about Mr. Fletcher and his bullshit.

"Alright. Now quit smiling like an idiot," Romano commanded, turning serious again. "Those people out there are expecting us bloody, pissed to no end, and about 5 seconds away from slashing each other's throats with a 10-blade."

"Let's give them a good show." He finished. And they walked out the door, doing their best to look absolutely furious at each other.

No one knew the difference.


	5. Midicci’s

It was a lovely Friday evening in Chicago, at our beloved Cook County. Around 7, to be exact.

The sun was setting.

The birds were just about to turn in for the night.

And our weird, bald little surgical hero, Robert Romano was waiting anxiously at the patient entrance of the hospital in an imperceptible little corner of the lobby, sitting in an overstuffed armchair, bouncing his left leg nervously. He was clad in a full suit and jacket, his favorite trench coat covering it with the intention of keeping out the Chicago elements. It was complete with a small black bow tie that sat under his chin. He had on his best golden cuff-links, and his most expensive Rolex watch.

He had ice on his wrist and a jumpy stomach.

And he was praying yet again to God, Allah, Buddha, Satan, WHOEVER that our other glorious surgical whatever, Peter Benton, would just show up so they could go before some nosy cunt he knew saw him and asked what he was doing all dressed up and no where to go.

'_Come on. How long does it take to close an open laparotomy?!_' Robert's nerves spiked even more. What if he was standing him up, making him look like an absolute fool for actually thinking he'd go out with him? What if he got some of those asshole ER docs in on it, and started a betting pool on how long he'd wait before giving up and trotting off to the nearest bar to get drunk of his ass and drown his sorrows?

He was probably still upstairs, laughing about the whole thing. He stared at the floor, hunched over slightly, thinking of every way Peter could fuck him that night, and not in the same context as in exam one. And before that, the shower room. And before that...

He was spooked out of his quickly escalating thoughts by a hand squeezing his shoulder gently, causing him to flinch.

"Sorry," Peter said, wanting to kick himself for scaring him for the umpteenth time that month. "You want to get going before anyone catches on?"

"Sounds like a good idea." Romano replied, standing up, straightening himself up after sitting for a bit. He took briefly took in Benton's appearance. The taller man appeared to take the same route. White shirt, red tie, dark navy blue slacks, and a blazer, covered by a long brown coat.

They walked out the doors of County, one after the other, and Peter started them off going left, which made reminded the other man of one tiny kink in their plan;

Where the _hell_ were they even going?

"Dr. Benton, I do believe we never sorted out one small detail about our next discussion..."

"Don't worry, I know a place." Peter said, reassuring the man, looking over at him briefly. He knew he probably looked pretty pale, undoubtedly more than a little nervous. They'd already done so much more than this, so why was he ready for God to strike him dead before he made a fool of himself?

They walked in companionable silence as Romano followed Benton to whatever place he'd picked out for the two. He wasn't even going to try to get after him for that, his head void of anything apart from the millions of little things that could go wrong that night. '_Jesus this man is going to be the death of me_.'

And he was doing okay until his hand gently brushed Peter's, causing him to yank it away as if he'd been electrocuted, that blush threatening to throw itself back onto his cheeks.

The other man looked at him, slowing down slightly. Looking over his shoulder to make sure they'd put a considerable distance between themselves and County, he grabbed Romano's hand, lacing their fingers together, giving it a squeeze.

"_Relax_." He said softly to Robert, whose cheeks were as red as the blood they'd had smeared on their gloves not a half hour before. "You don't have to be like that around me. I don't bite..._much_." He spoke the last word more softly than the rest.

And so they walked, hand in hand, for the next couple of blocks it took to get to the restaurant. If anyone was looking at them, both men were blissfully unaware, minds preoccupied with each other's company and their entwined fingers.

They reached a rather classy looking Italian place, a sign that read 'Midicci's' in bright white cursive, shining in its ever darkening surroundings as the sun continued to set, bright city lights slowly becoming more visible in the absence of daylight.

They entered. Instantly noting the amount of people who'd had the same idea as them—_'Friday night, no shit Einstein_', Romano began to fret all over again. Benton let go of his hand to talk to the waitress at the front desk.

Soon enough, they were being led to a table for two, which was complete with silverware, freshly poured champagne for the pair, and even a candle serving as a centerpiece.

Peter pulled out his chair, then helped him shrug out of his trench coat before seating himself across from Robert, who smirked at him.

"Well, aren't you a gentleman," he said, some of his usual sarcasm coming back to him. "Who gave you the right to spoil me like this?"

"If I gave you anything less I'd never hear the end of it," Benton snarked, grinning at the man.

"Besides, after yesterday, I thought you deserved something special..." he finished lowly. Romano looked down at his folded hands on his lap, color threatening to return to his cheeks.

"I've made you blush. The _all mighty and all powerful Robert Romano_. Second time this evening and it's only 7:30," Peter said amazed, taking a sip of his champagne.

If Romano was going to bite back with anything clever, he was cut off by their waiter, who was taking that inopportune moment to take their orders.

A depressed looking man with a 5 o'clock shadow wearing a tuxedo and bow-tie not unlike Romano's stood by the table, notepad in hand.

"Hi, my name is Edward Dorsett. My friends call me Fast Eddie. I'll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with any appetizers?" He had as much excitement in his voice as a boiled potato.

The two men at the table exchanged looks, then glanced at the menu.

"We'll take an order of garlic bread." Romano said after a beat, looking over at Peter for approval.

Edward scribbled the order down in his note pad.

"Alrighty then. I'll bring that right up, along with a pair of ladies. Two guys all dressed up in a place like this, sippin' wine? People are gonna think you're 'funny' as my grandpa Joe used to call it, God rest his soul." He jabbed, laughing like a fucktard at his own mediocre attempt at a joke.

The pair glared at Edward. If looks could kill...

His shit eating grin was wiped away in a nanosecond.

"Right. Garlic bread it is then." He made his hasty retreat.

The two were left in silence, both looking away after that horrendous encounter. The sound of a piano being played in the far corner, coupled with the chatter of others around them filled the silence, making it more bearable than if they were alone.

Edward came back with their garlic bread, wordlessly setting it on the table and leaving. Romano eyed him as he stormed off.

"God," He said, a cocky smile returning to his face, causing Peter to look at him. "What a loser!"

The other man chuckled, shoulders shaking slightly with laughter.

The two tucked into their bread basket, unfazed by...ugh...Fast Eddie. Peter decided to pipe up as Romano was taking a big sip of his champagne.

"Be honest. _Was I your first_?"

The weird bald man inhaled sharply at the question, choking on his drink. He sputtered, and Peter handed him his napkin.

"Thank you." He choked out, still coughing.

Peter chuckled. "I'm sorry. That was a little—."

"No, no...uh, it's fine..." He stammered, flustered. Peter reached his hand across the table, covering Robert's hand with his own.

"Was I?" He asked, looking him in the eye.

"Yes," Romano said softly, looking down at their touching hands. Peter took another sip of his champagne. "The first _man_, anyway...you?"

"Same here..." He murmured, picking up the man's hand and holding it gently. He stroked his knuckles with his thumb. Robert sighed from the gentle caress. His skin tingled from the other man's touch, kind of wanting to drag him right out of that restaurant and let him take him all over again.

The two saw Edward Horseshit coming back their way, and reluctantly pulled away.

"So, are we ready for the main course?" He said, his voice exuding a raw energy not unlike a cold stick of unsalted butter.

The two ordered in turn. Edward scribbled furiously onto his notepad.

"Okie dokie. I'll get those right out for ya. And if I were you, I'd buy a drink for those lovely ladies over at table 13," he pointed to a pair in the opposite corner, blissfully unaware of the weasel who was currently staring them down.

And, as luck would fuck them, it just so happened to be Doctors Weaver and Legaspi, who, what had to be due to some higher power looking out for their asses had not noticed them. Or at least they were PRETENDING they hadn't.

"By my calculations, after a martini or two, I wouldn't be surprised if ya both got some tonight!" He winked at that last part, cackling like an idiot.

Again, he was met with blank stares and awkward silence.

"Okay..." He said, and briskly walked away.

As soon as the little annoyance left, the two looked at each other with wide eyes.

"I'm starting to wish we'd arranged for this _discussion_ to be held in the ass end of Milwaukee." Romano said, taking another sip of the drink that almost killed him a few paragraphs back. Peter laughed slightly at that, shaking his head slightly in disbelief.

"I wouldn't be surprised if we found some of them out there, too." He said, flicking his eyes over to them, then back at Robert.

"So..." the bald man started, unsure as to how to proceed. '_How about "So, wanna talk about how we've been boffing in assorted spots of the hospital where we happen to work, or whether or not it'll be pissing down with rain tomorrow morning?" How about a nice middle ground of "It's been lovely out this week, I can't wait for the next time you can rearrange my guts in MY hospital. Maybe we should do it in a storage closet, just to even things out between first and fourth floor?_"'

"So..." Peter began, seeming equally as unsure, especially after Eddie Dipshit and his audacity. You would've thought the greasy looking man could read minds!

"Alright, I'm aware of the elephant in this room, so I'm just going to say this flat out," Robert started, looking at Peter.

"That was easily the best sex I've ever had in my life. Now of course, I can't be crazy enough to think that the two of us could make anything work in terms of how to treat a PATIENT let alone a romantic relationship but the fact of the matter is...I find you very attractive." He paused, taking a sip of his champagne, looking at Peter to try and gauge his reaction.

"Of course there is the prospect of someone in a position administrative power having an affair with a subordinate, which is...let's face it, a whole other clusterfuck to deal with, not to mention that it's a same sex affair in the somewhat unaccepting times we're living in. But to be fair, the two of us share the same insane schedule, therefore the same lacking social life, so I'd really like to give it a try...with you...what do ya say?"

"Well, quite frankly Dr. Romano, I'm surprised." Peter said, still processing his words.

"Really. I thought you could see right through me." Robert gave him a small smile, picking at his garlic bread.

"Well with all of the dirt everyone has on you, I'd imagine you'd want to end things right away. Between the rumor mill and protecting your place in the food chain..." he trailed off. The bald man shrugged, picking up his wine glass.

"Well I suppose some little problems could arise..." Romano noted, thoughtfully observing the liquid in his glass.

"I'd say there'd be A LOT more than a few." Peter laughed, sipping at his own drink.

"I mean, we wouldn't want anything to happen that would ruin our work relationship that we have now, or ruffle any feathers up at risk management."

"Yeah, because our work relationship is going so GREAT." Peter snarked, giving Romano a look.

"So great, mind you, that it's pretty much what brought us here." He snarked right back, gazing right back at him.

And, like many other good things, another one of their intense staring sessions was interrupted by a weasely little presence that brought them their food and filled their wine glasses. None of them said a word.

When he left, the two tucked in to their respective dishes. They remained quiet for a while, the last few minutes of the conversation still sinking in, trying to make sure they knew just what the other wanted from them.

"I mean let's just say," Romano started again after a while of silence, piercing a ravioli with his fork. "What if...we went for it."

"What if?" Peter agreed, taking a bite of his shrimp scampi.

"What's the harm in it if we just keep it quiet from HR and the rest of that damn hospital? It's none of their damn business anyway!"

"It's not like it's the end of the world or something!" Benton said, a wry smile covering his face as he thought about it. Come to think of it, all of County probably WOULD treat it like a meteor on its way to Earth.

"And outside of hospital business we clearly enjoy each other! We share similar interests, we can both take a good joke every now and again," The rather elated bald man explained, sipping his champagne some more. "I mean it's almost stupid if we don't!"

"It's moronic!"

"Absurd!" The bald man agreed, who was now sporting a rather huge goofy grin, champagne starting to get to his head. "Well then, it's settled. Dr. Peter Benton, knowing full well that HR could have our balls served on a steel platter assuming they ever do find out about us, and that we would face everlasting torment from the rumor mill for years to come, possibly obliging us to change our names and move to Europe...do you want to be my lover?"

"Yes," he said, chuckling. "Yes, Dr. Robert Romano, I would love to be "funny" with you, as what's-his-face's-dead-grandfather would put it."

Romano put out his hand for Benton to shake, and he did, laughing as the bald idiot almost dipped his sleeve into the Alfredo sauce covering his plate returning his hand to his side of the table.

And so they talked. And ate. And drank themselves to the point of thinking everything was funny.

"They bought it. They actually fucking bought it!!" Romano bellowed, in stitches, a little after their dinner plates had been cleaned and taken away by Fast Ejaculator, their glasses having been refilled 3 more times since. "Rumpled clothes, a bite mark here and there, and they still fucking bought it! Hell, I'm surprised they didn't sick security or at least Kerry Weaver on us to make sure we weren't turning the place into a damned crime scene!"

"Well she certainly couldn't have that in her ER. It's bad for publicity!" Benton howled. He was leaning back in his chair, observing Romano's current state. He'd never seen the man so laid back before. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he laughed, his dimples showing, his cheeks slightly flushed on account of his drunkenness. He looked absolutely wonderful.

Peter rest his head on one hand, propping that elbow up on the table, watching him as he continued. "The look on her face if she'd barged in, expecting to see us throttling each other—it would ruin things but GOD, would that be to die for!" Robert continued, nearly in tears.

It wasn't until his laughter died down that he noticed Peter staring at him, dreamily. He gazed back at him, amused.

"What are you looking at?" He asked in mock aggravation.

"You're pretty..." the other man said sweetly, dragging the 'e' sound for slightly longer than necessary. This got Robert laughing again.

"Am I? Really?" He said between giggles at Benton's ear-to-ear grin.

"Yeah...but there's just one thing..."

"There's someone else, isn't there? Let me guess, it's Dr. Edson! You cheating bastard!" He said, feigning a hurt look.

"Not that," Peter said, standing up slightly, reaching over to Robert's mouth, wiping some Alfredo sauce that had managed to find its way to the corner of his mouth with his thumb. He turned his head quickly to nip at it.

"Watch it, you!" He warned jokingly, pulling the hand away. Just then, our favorite comedian showed up with the check. Benton shoved his card in the guy's face before Romano could get a word in.

"Oh, come on _Petey_, that's not fair! I should at least get half! You're making me feel like some spoiled sugar baby or something!" The bald man whined.

"Don't call me Petey, _Robbie_," Benton teased back. "And besides, tonight's my treat."

Edward DickTwitch, or whatever his name is, returned with the check. "You two have a lovely night." He said as Peter retrieved his card. As he was about to walk off, Romano piped up.

"Fast Eddie!" The man turned as Robbie got his attention. "That guy over there's been eyeing all evening!" He nodded his head to some lonely schmuck at the bar who was on his 7th round of scotch on the rocks. He had vomit on his sleeve and was about a sip away from hitting the floor. He was a spitting image of Paris Hilton at her worst.

"By my calculations, if you buy him a martini or two, you'll be gettin' some tonight!" He howled as Benton was beginning to drag him away from the table, being the first to notice that Weaver and Legaspi were starting to saunter towards them, probably with the intentions of saying hi. He was dragging his heels, taking in the appalled look on Eddie's face.

"If I remember correctly there's one fine Motel 6 a few blocks down the road! You two lovebirds can make your own little nest there!" He slurred, alcohol making him unable to stand still. Peter was now behind him and working on physically pushing him out the doors of the restaurant into the cold Chicago streets.


	6. By The River

"Honest to God, you're lucky you didn't get your ass whooped!"

"Oh, come on Peter! You've got to admit, the look on his face was fucking priceless!"

By now, the two were walking down by the Chicago River, arms linked in order to keep each other's drunk ass from falling over.

The skies of Chicago were completely dark now, the bright city lights illuminating the way for our two surgical heroes as they walked together without a care in the world. The moon shone above them like a big surgical light in the sky, stars surrounding it like scattered glitter.

"I'm not saying it wasn't hilarious! I'm just sayin', I'm just genuinely surprised he didn't pop one out on your nose or something!" Peter laughed.

"Whatever! The guys a shrimp, he wouldn't've done a thing! _Especially _with his paycheck on the line!"

"You're one to talk, _Robbie_." Benton said sweetly, patting the man's big bald head with his free hand, which was significantly _lower_ than his own. The other man simply pushed him with his side, almost making him fall into the railing by the riverside, not calculating the fact that Benton was still holding his arm, so he pretty much sandwiched the man between himself and the railing.

Unfazed, Peter unhooked his arm from the other man's, wrapping him by the shoulders in a big hug, kissing his forehead.

"Get off, you dickhead!" Romano complained, making no effort to move.

"It's words like that," Peter slurred, still against the railing, hugging the drunk surgeon. "That make me wanna take you right here on this boardwalk."

"Not if you keep making cracks like that!" Robert complained gently swatting at Peter's fat head. The man just hugged him closer.

"Oh, you're so sweet." The man slurred, laughing, tucking the pissy bald man's head underneath his chin, still leaning his back against the railing as he squirmed against him. Romano stilled after another moment, taking in Peter's warmth and the sweet smell of his cologne that brought him back to the previous day in the exam room. He shoved his hands underneath the man's big winter coat.

"Jackoff." Robert growled, voice muffled against Peter's neck, leaning into the man.

"So, Dr. Romano..." Benton began, rubbing the man's with one hand. "The night's still pretty young. And neither of us are in any shape to grab our cars from County and drive home, not even considering the fact that someone could still see us. I was wondering if you'd like to catch a cab and..."

Romano picked up his head just enough to give him a confused look. "Haven't you got that little munchkin at home?"

Peter reached his hand up and stroked his cheek, smiling brightly. "Reese is spending the night with my sister."

The man looked thoughtful for a moment, weighing his options, especially after their little agreement back at the restaurant.

The shorter man kissed his cheek softly. "I'd love to." He answered with his own toothy grin.

They pulled apart, and began making their way from the riverside back towards the street, still having a difficult time walking in a straight line.

"Taxi!" Romano yelled, hoping to snag a ride before his ass froze off. He almost fell off the curb and into the road on MULTIPLE occasions, and probably would have been railed by a truck hadn't Peter been there to yank him back by the back of his coat.

"Finally!" The bald man yelled when a big yellow cab from the busy street began to slow down, temporarily parking on the curb for them to board.

"Oh no! I've been standing out here for 15 minutes!" A foreign voice called out from around 20 feet down the curb, slowly getting closer. Some fat guy with a handlebar mustache and a bug up his ass was briskly waddling his way toward our two drunken surgical heroes.

"Oh shit GO!" Romano yowled, throwing the door of the taxi open, allowing Peter to climb inside, then jumping in himself.

The last thing they heard from Pissed Off Fat Guy was the slam of a briefcase against the trunk of the car as they pulled off, leaving him red faced and fuming. The two men looked at each other, slightly mortified.

Peter gave the taxi driver his address, who seemed to be completely unfazed by the total stranger's outburst, obviously used to occurrences like this happening on a daily basis. He then sat back, taking a glance at Robert, who was gazing out the window at the city lights, a pensive expression covering his face.

The taller surgeon grasped his hand, pulling him from his reverie.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked, looking at the man with bright eyes. Romano smiled at him.

"I've had a very nice time tonight, Peter."

"You ain't seen nothing yet..." he said huskily, with a glint in his chocolate colored eyes. Romano blushed hard, looking down at their hands. The other man laughed.

"3 times in one night. I think you might be coming down with something again, Dr. Romano."

They rode in companionable silence, all the way to Peter's house. They got there, and the taller man paid the fare, despite Robert's insistent griping.

"Oh come on, Peter..." the man was shut up, as soon as the cab peeled off, by Peter's lips hitting his as he took the bald man in his arms. Romano's complaints were replaced by a soft moan as the kiss intensified, and he wrapped his arms around the taller man's neck.

"_Peter, you're going to get us arrested._" Robert groaned as he moved from his mouth down to the crook of his neck, his teeth pulling gently on the sensitive skin there.

"Dr. Romano, could I interest you in a night cap?" Peter whispered in his ear once he'd got himself to stop, his head resting on his shoulder.

"I'm pretty sure if I drink another drop I'll end up on the UNOS list for a new liver!" He murmured.

"Would coffee be a more enticing offer?" He brought his head up from the man's shoulder slightly, looking at him with sparkling eyes.

"I think I can handle that."

Benton took his hand, leading him to his doorstep. He took out his keys and unlocked the door.

"Make yourself at home." The taller man said as they reached the living room, and Robert plopped down on the couch, propping his feet up on the ottoman in front of it.

Benton sauntered off to make the coffee, and Romano took a quick glance around his home. Less than a month ago, he'd never have imagined himself in one of his best surgeon's houses, having just snogged them and then waiting for them to brew some coffee, about to do _God knows what _in there.

It was spacious, but not intimidating, the strange bald man noted. He appreciated a grand piano in the corner of the living room and a fireplace imbedded in the wall across from him, a big, sleek leather couch facing it, which he was currently sprawled out on. His walls had photographs scattered on it here and there, one of which was of him in a cap and gown, presumably after he'd graduated med school.

Robert gazed at the photo, sniggering. '_If only his professors knew what an arrogant little bitch he'd become_.'

"What are you laughing at, _Robbie_?" The man teased as he reentered, two cups of steaming coffee in hand.

"Don't call me that, _Petey_. Or so help me, you'll be stuck doing bowel resections and cholecystectomies till rapture." The man warned, giving him a grumpy look, as 'Petey' set the mugs down on the coffee table. He sat down next to him, poking the tip of his nose with one finger.

"Did anyone every tell you how cute you look when you're grumpy?" He drawled, giving him an innocent, toothy grin. The man's coffee colored eyes immediately focused on the finger on his nose, making him go cross-eyed. Peter bust out laughing, holding his stomach on the verge of tears.

"Oh that's real smart, Dr. Benton. _Laughing at you're superior_. With no consideration for his ego, at that. I think we might just need to cut this little _discussion _short." The man finished, pouting at the taller surgeon who was still having trouble finding his composure.

"Oh, shut up and have your coffee, you big baby! Before it gets cold." He yapped, grabbing his own mug and taking a swig of the hot, dark liquid. Robert did the same, glaring at Peter, still feigning a hurt look on his face.

"When are you on tomorrow?" Benton wondered, noting the time from the old wooden grandfather clock in the far left side of the room. It was already almost 9.

"I'm not—tomorrow's my day off." Romano sighed, seeming quite relieved. "My first real one in almost 2 weeks." A hand found itself on the nape of his neck in a gentle caress.

"You shouldn't push yourself too hard." Benton urged, his expression turned to one of concern.

"It's just in the job description, Peter, it's nothing personal." He mumbled, the man's touch making it hard to think straight. He leaned into the soft touch, as he massaged his neck, making him feel like nothing else in the whole world mattered.

When he'd managed to develop these exceedingly, almost frighteningly strong feelings for Benton, he had no idea. Whatever feelings were unleashed from the depths of him in that office just continued to grow and strengthen with each passing day, and he had no idea how to stop it. Hell, he had no idea if he even _wanted _to stop it. '_Good god, how the fuck will I ever do surgery with this man again?_'

"I'm on at 8 tomorrow. Should be fun." Benton deadpanned, absentmindedly massaging Romano's neck.

"Like hell you are!" The other man growled, looking at him sternly.

"What are you implying, that I call in sick or something?" Benton asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "You ought to know I can't afford many more sick days before I end up getting screwed."

"Well, it just so happens that I _do _have supreme power over your schedule, Dr. Benton," The shorter man murmured, a mischief showing in his face. He sipped at his coffee and continued—"I suppose we can let this one slide under the table."

"That's favoritism, Dr. Romano," Peter informed him, getting a bit serious. "If anybody _just so happens_ to find out about us—."

"They're not _going _to, Peter, so stop worrying you're pretty little head about it and just let _me _take care of this." Peter looked unconvinced.

Robert took the man's hand from where it rest on his neck, holding it in both of his own.

"It's the least I can do after tonight," he said honestly. "It's just one day shift. I highly doubt that even if we _are _found out, anyone will make the connection. _Just let me do this one thing for you_."

He brought his hand up to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. He was met with stony silence as Benton's eyes flicked away from him slightly, obviously having an internal debate with himself between his surgical duties, and his boss, who was currently giving him puppy eyes as he all but begged him to give in to his wishes.

"I can make a mean plate of eggs and bacon, you know. Hell, I'll even throw chocolate chip pancakes and mimosas in the mix depending on what you've got here." He pleaded, looking almost desperate at this point. "Please spend the morning with me?"

Peter shook his head, defeated. "Oh...how could I say no to that face?" He whined, the smile returning to his face. Romano gave him one of his own, selling him completely on his proposition. "Damn you!" the taller surgeon growled, throwing his arms around the man, squeezing him.

He got up after a beat as Robert reached for his coffee, taking another sip, observing the man. The only light cast on his form was from a tall lamp in one corner of the room, bathing him in its soft glow as he ambled to the turntable by his window.

He'd lost his thick overcoat once the two had entered. Giving him a once over, _several _times over, Robert slowly became aware of how badly he'd just like to rip his suit and tie off, leaving it in a forgotten pile on the floor as they gave each other all of their time for the rest of the evening.

His cheeks slightly reddened at the thought, shifting as other parts of his body responded to his sudden invasive little notion in their own way. His little brainstorming session had sobered him up at least 5 times more than the coffee in his hand.

"Well this is odd," Peter noted after putting one of his jazz records on the turntable. The sound of soft instrumentals filled the room. "The _Great Rocket Romano _has gone all quiet on me." He returned to his spot on the couch next to the man, resting his hand on his knee.

"_Care to let me in on what's distracting you?_"  
Romano shuddered as his voice dropped deliciously low again. '_The word _**_you_**_ sure does come to mind_.'

Robert bit his lip, eyes averting in the direction of Peter's lap, then down at the ground as he turned his head to face the coffee table. He began reading off the names of the various medical journals that littered it, trying to quell the butterflies in his gut that were going mad from the intense, dare he say, _alluring _man beside him.

Benton brought a hand up to Romano's face, holding his chin, making him meet his eyes, dark and full of questioning.

"Don't tell me you haven't been thinking about it," Robert whispered, running his fingers up and down the forearm connected to the hand that seemed to control his every desire. His eyes were dead set on the small expanse of his dark, bare skin, his sleeves rolled up. "You of all people must be fully aware of the effect you have on me, Dr. Benton."

A brief pause. The smooth jazz sounded far away as their brown eyes met, filled to the brim with desire and intensity, both observing the other's intentions carefully.

"_Don't tell me you haven't been enjoying it_."

"As a matter of fact I have," Peter said in Romano's favorite tone. He brought his head in, his mouth nearing Romano's ear, bringing his voice down to a sultry whisper. "Pretend all you want, _Dr. Romano_. I've seen the way you look at me over the operating table. Across the desk when you're signing off on discharge papers. Even while we scrub." He bit down on his earlobe, making him gasp, his unsteady breath now against Peter's neck.

"I want you, Peter. _Now_." Robert said, any fragment of poise and self control leaving him as he continued to stare deep into those dark eyes, wanting, _needing_...

Peter kissed him. Hard. His tongue pushing into his mouth, exploring the now all too familiar territory that was Romano's mouth. They kissed passionately as Robert got closer to him, as close as possible, until he found himself in the man's lap, making quick work of the buttons on his silk shirt. He loosened his tie as Peter untucked his shirt, running his hands across his broad shoulders, down his back, all the way down to his ass, caressing his backside.

Romano moaned loudly into his mouth at the contact. He felt Peter's bulging arousal underneath him. He began unbuckling the man's belt, keeping his mouth pressed against his, moaning again as he felt Peter give the side of his mouth a hot swipe with his tongue.

Reluctantly, Robert broke the kiss, pulling himself off of Peter's lap and onto the floor, kneeling, positioning his body between the man's knees. He pulled down his slacks, running a hand over the bulging erection stretching the fabric of his briefs. He pulled them down, lowering his head to kiss the tip of his length softly.

"Oh _God_..." Benton groaned as Romano wrapped his lips around him, tasting him for the first time. He bobbed his head up and down on his member, taking more and more of it into his mouth with each slow stroke.

"_Fuck, Robert!_" Peter yelled when he got to the base, throwing his head back against the couch, one hand stroking his bald head while the other gripped one of his couch cushions so hard his knuckles turned white. His hips moved slightly, unable to gain much momentum being pressed between his couch and Romano, who was caressing his thighs.

Benton finally had to nudge Romano's head away, panting as his legs trembled slightly from the man's feverish efforts.

"If you keep that up, I'm not going to last much longer..." he said shakily, still catching his breath.

He stood up, helping Robert up from his spot on the floor. Peter quickly led him upstairs, pulling off his shirt and jacket to hit the floor somewhere as they made their way to the bedroom. By the time they got with 10 feet of the door they were kissing passionately again as Peter yanked at Romano's own jacket, leaving it to fall on the floor.

After shutting his door, Peter shoved Robert onto the bed, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt, kissing down his chest with each one he flung open. He tossed it off to the side, then worked on pulling his belt loose. He pulled off Robert's pants and boxers all in one tug, leaving him completely bare, writhing in anticipation. Peter brought his mouth back to Romano's, kissing his tender, kiss swollen lips.

His skin tingled from the skin-to-skin contact, bodies pressed together, lining up almost perfectly as Benton held him in his arms.

Romano broke the kiss again, crying out in pleasure as their swollen members brushed together, that same otherworldly pleasure jolting through him like a lightening strike. Peter rocked his hips against Robert's, gaining friction from the action, causing the man to pant hard, his throbbing length wet with pre-come as the other man's rubbed against it.

Benton retrieved a small bottle from his nightstand, squeezing a dollop of its contents out onto his hand, lubricating it along with his member. He inserted his fingers into the man, bringing his head down to pepper kisses across his stomach.

"Oh god yes!" Robert yelled as Peter lowered his head down to his weeping length, sucking on the tip as he pushed his fingers against his prostrate, trembling from the mixed sensation. He gently guided Peter's head as he moved against his mouth, feeling like he might pass out from the dizzying amount of pleasure the man granted him.

He pulled away after a while, lining up his slick member with Robert's entrance. He entered him, feeling his nails drag against his flesh and his teeth sink into his neck. He held one of his hands, lacing their fingers together as he began to thrust into him as hard as he could, working to satisfy the man with every fiber of his being.

Benton's thrusts got harder and harder the louder Romano got as his moans of approval and soft, moaned words of praise got less and less coherent. He clung to Peter, his carnal cries increasing in volume and pitch as he went on.

Robert came painfully hard on one particularly sharp thrust, his hot white release getting all over himself and the taller man's abdomen. His grip on the man tightened even more as the thrusts continued, pulling him back to the point of oblivion once more.

"_Don't stop, Peter_..." he groaned, feeling himself getting close all over again.

The taller man kept up his rhythm, sinking his teeth hard into the man's neck, sucking his soft skin, trying to hold on a little longer.

"_Don't stop, Peter!_" He shouted as he came again. Peter was soon to follow, finishing deep inside of him. He collapsed on top of him, breathing heavy, perspiration running covering his forehead in a sheen.

Benton pulled out of him, lying next to him, chest rising and falling rapidly. He grasped his hand firmly, staring at the ceiling.

"Oh my god that was amazing." Romano said breathlessly. Benton nodded in approval.

"God, I love you." He sighed, before even registering what the words meant before they came out of his mouth.

Panicking, he let go of Peter's hand, throwing himself up from the bed. The other man was quick to stop him before he got too far, grabbing him around the waist, dragging him back into bed, spooning him in with him, tangling their legs together.

"It's okay. I love you too, Robert." He murmured, tightening his arms around the bald surgeon. "I love you too..."


	7. Good Fucking Morning:Revenge of the Shit

**So turns out my school's closing cuz of the Coronavirus. You know what that means?!**

**_Ample time to update this fic before we all fucking DIE._**

**Enjoy, kiddies!**

He woke up slowly as the first signs of daylight began to shine through the half-closed curtains. He'd forgotten where he was for a moment, until his dulled senses picked up on someone's hot breath against his neck, and two strong arms holding him from around his chest.

Oh. _Right._ Peter's place.

He opened his eyes, groaning slightly at the throbbing pain in his head that came of it. His stomach lining felt like it'd been rubbed down with paint thinner. All in all, his body felt like an absolute DUMPSTER FIRE. '_Damn that man and his stupid, expensive wine!_'

Reluctantly, the strange, rather hungover bald man began to untangle himself from the warm body curled up behind him, snoring softly, aware of a different kind of need he'd developed after sleeping off the night's exertions. A _bathroom _need.

Pulling himself ever so slowly out from under the covers, he made a quick once over at the other man. He felt a stir in his chest as he gazed at his sleeping face. His features softened, Romano would have been lying if he hadn't seen some angelic qualities within the man who'd just fucked his brains out less than 9 hours prior. '_How easy would it be to just shove a pillow over his big stupid face..._'

He reached out a hand, stroking his cheek gently, sighing as he took in his appearance for a little while longer, before he yanked one of the man's baggy looking sweatshirts, slipping it on to cover himself up a bit, and padded off to the bathroom.

Once his needs were met, he turned to the sink, washing up before immediately shoving his head into it and slurping down water straight from the tap like a fucking homeless man, desperate to ease the aftermath of their little night out. He glanced at himself in the mirror, groaning at the man in it. '_It'd be a miracle if he didn't go running for the hills when he catches a glimpse of me._' He pondered, staring down his reflection with a grimace. '_I look like I've been hit in the face with a shovel!_'

He turned on the shower almost as hot as it would go. Snagging Peter's toothbrush, he cleared his mouth of the feeling he'd gotten from his previous intoxication, which was not unlike Satan having taken a fat shit in his mouth.

He then slipped off Peter's sweatshirt, tossing it on the counter, and jumped under the hot spray, feeling the pounding in his head ease slightly as the water doused over it. He groaned, beginning to feel a bit more alive again, and lathered up, his mind beginning to wander a bit.

He said he loved him. He _fucking _said he loved him. And he said it back.

What the hell was happening to him? He's been in plenty of casual relationships before, all of which consisted of equal parts fucking and dining before they eventually fell flat. Of course, those were all with _women_. Peter shouldn't be much different. He should _not _make him feel like this. It was all just a little bit of harmless experimentation, but _oh what a little experimenting had made him feel_.

Romano sighed, thoughts swirling through his head as he rinsed off. Perhaps he'd gotten a bit more than he'd bargained for after his little dinner suggestion. And sure, he was happy. Happier than he'd been in a hell of a long time, to be more accurate. He just hoped the entire thing wouldn't eventually blow up in his face. After all, at times, him and Peter were often comparable to a square peg in a round hole.

Beforehand, he'd gotten his cheap thrills almost entirely from _surgery_. Every bit of passion he had in him had gone into surgery, and just about nothing else. But _now. _

He shut his eyes, his mind wandering back to last night. It had been the first time the pair had gotten the chance to really take their time, slowly working each other up just to wear each other out, all without having to rush to get their clothes back on straight and return to their duties, pretending like nothing had happened.

He longed for the next chance they'd get to find themselves alone together. No bustling hallways keeping one from _loudly _voicing their praise to the other as they carried on with yet another graceless act of passion. No beeping pagers. And sure as hell no annoying coworkers, whom he felt had been watching his every move around Peter since the _first _time.

Just them, all by themselves to create their own form of complete and utter bliss.

He shuddered. Peter Benton really did make him feel like he was the only man in the world. His deep kisses that took his breath away, keeping him from thinking about much else apart from his tongue, while his hands held his head or ran across his back. The way he prepared him slowly until his chest heaved and he begged for him, softly repeating his name only for him to eventually give in, laying into him, nipping at his most sensitive spots, caressing his thighs...

His straying imagination was promptly interrupted by a familiar sensation.

Two strong arms wrapped around him as the intruder pressed his chest against his back, nuzzling his cheek. Unfazed, Romano leaned back slightly against the man. Benton brought his head up for a moment, lazily pressing kiss to his temple.

"Good morning." Peter mumbled, his lips moving to a spot on the back of the man's ear, causing him to shiver.

"Good morning yourself," Robert grumbled, turning to face the man, kissing his cheek before leaning his head against his shoulder. "You slept like a rock."

"Yeah, well, I had this absolute mad man keeping me up last night. He came into my house, drank my coffee, and by the end of it all he ended up hogging up all the covers in my bed." He snarked, bringing up a hand to play with the 10 or 20 hair follicles left on the back of Robert's head.

"If you're going to barge in on my showers you could at _least_ be polite. After all, you were the one who insist—." He was shut up by Benton, who pulled him into their first kiss of the day. Romano complied, not having a care in the world about being shut up.

Peter broke the kiss, pulling away slightly, dark eyes gazing into the other surgeon's. Romano swallowed hard, beginning to fold under the man's intense stare all over again. He felt butterflies in his stomach at the velvety, smooth sound of the other man's voice.

"Dr. Romano...did you use _my_ toothbrush?"

The bald man nodded slowly, resisting the urge to break away from those intense dark orbs and stare at the smooth, wet tiles of the shower floor.

"_Without my permission_?" He almost sounded angry, as he backed him up against the shower wall, pinning both of his own hands against it on either side of Romano's head. He peered down at him. '_There he goes again, staring at me like I'm brunch. My God, does the man have any class at all?!_'

"_Boss to subordinate_, remember Peter? I do what I want." He bit back, hoping to God, Allah, _whatever _that his own eyes shown back just as dark, were _just _as intense. If he had the same dizzying affect on Peter as Peter had on him, he hid it well, his back taut, his toned muscles wet from the hot spray to the right of them. He appeared large and unafraid. Unfaltering. _Intimidating. _Romano's heart was beating like a trailer park husband.

Benton brought his head in closer, _much _closer, his mouth nearing his own in an almost kiss. Romano inhaled sharply, his lips parting slightly in anticipation. '_KISS ME ALREADY, YOU BASTARD_'

Peter took one hand away from the wall, bringing it round to caress his backside, pulling at the man's bottom lip with his teeth as his breathing picked up.

"Respectfully, _Dr. Romano, _it's my house..." he whispered, his hand now stroking his hip, up and down, _ever so gently. _Robert gripped his wrist, _desperately_ trying to guide his hand lower. Peter wasn't having it, pulling upward against his grip. He moved his hand back to his ass, pinching hard, a loud whine escaping the man's lips.

"_I'm the boss here_..." he growled, before crashing his lips to Robert's again, giving him the intense contact he so desperately needed. He reached his arms around Peter, feeling the solid muscle of his shoulders rippling under smooth, wet skin. Romano's nails raked gently across Peter's back as he stroked the inside of his thigh in circles, teasing him.

Peter pulled him closer, one hand holding his head against his mouth as he ravaged it while the other gripped his backside, pulling his hips closer to his own. The shorter man moaned into the kiss as Peter ground his hips against his, his swollen prick rubbing with his own. Arousal pooled deep within him, settling in his stomach like magma in his gut. He moved against him, gaining friction against the man.

Peter pulled away, his mouth coming up to Robert's ear, tongue tracing its shell as he panted, chest to chest with the man.

"With all due respect, Dr. Romano," Peter brought a hand down to Romano's throbbing length, rubbing hard on the tip with his thumb as he spoke, his words as smooth as molten caramel into the man's ear. He yelled, rapture seizing his now trembling form. Peter's voice dropped down to a breathy whisper. "_I'm going to fuck you until you can barely walk_."

And with that, Peter crashed his lips back to Romano's, kissing him hungrily. The balder man returned the kiss, starving for him, for his touch, his kiss, his...

The kiss broke as Benton took his hand away from Robert's member, bringing it to his mouth, pushing two of his fingers past his lips.

"_Suck them_. Or I'll stop."

Romano complied, his tongue caressing the fingers in his mouth, sucking gently. Peter's mouth travelled down to his neck, then down his chest. He turned his attention to his erect nipples, pulling on one of them with his mouth, running his tongue over the nub.

Robert groaned around the man's fingers as he teased his nipples, his hands running over his shoulders, praising him.

Benton took his head away after a while, kissing the man's cheek before withdrawing his fingers, slipping them inside of him. Romano's legs shook, threatening to give way as Benton hit his prostate, rubbing it in a circular motion.

"_Relax_. I've got you..." the taller man reassured, holding him tight against him with his free arm, keeping him upright. The shorter man's breathing picked up, his eyes slamming shut, losing himself in the feeling of Peter's fingers.

"_Fuck, Peter_..." he cried, nearing the edge. Peter withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his large, turgid member, slick with precome. He pushed into the man as he groaned, letting himself be pushed up against the shower wall, wrapping his legs around Peter's waist.

"_Oh Dr. Benton_..." he crooned as Benton thrust in and out of his entrance. The man pressed soft, lingering kisses up and down the length of his jaw as he sped up, pushing deeper and deeper with every bump against him. Romano reached a hand down to his aching hardness, stroking it up and down, matching Peter's rhythm. "Oh god...right there..._right there_!"

The nails on his other hand sank into Peter's back as he came, black spots clouding his vision from the head rush caused from his abrupt climax. The other man didn't slow down as Romano's body grew a bit more slack in his arms, almost convulsing between Peter's sharp thrusts and his own euphoric orgasm.

"_Come with me, you son of a bitch..._" Benton growled into his ear, movements becoming all the more powerful, hips moving frantically, not far from being pushed over the edge. He gathered Romano's ass in his hands, pulling him as close as possible against his hips as he pummeled him.

"_Come for me, Robert!_" He cried, releasing his spent inside of Romano, who followed suit, his back arching against the wall as he came painfully hard. He sagged against Peter then, panting from the heat of the shower, coupled with the almost impossibly close contact with one of his lead surgeons.

Peter pulled out of him, and the two slid to the floor. Robert rest his head against Peter's shoulder, taking his hand.

"Holy shit, you're amazing..." he breathed, still vibrating from Benton's endeavor. The man kissed his bald head before leaning his own against it.

"And you're biased." He sighed, gazing down at their linked hands.

Our two heroes' morning was off to a _fabulous _start...


	8. Pancakes

It was a lovely morning in the Benton household, around 9am that day in the city of Chicago.

The sun was shining.

The birds were singing.

And our well-known surgical hero, Robert Romano stood in boxers and a bathrobe, casually flipping chocolate chip pancakes and cooking bacon, humming to himself while he worked. Our other well known, not _yet_ medical hero, Reese Benton sat on the counter to the left of him, eating chocolate chips straight from the bag, watching the stranger make breakfast.

Our other well-known surgical hero, Peter Benton, stumbled down the stairs. Unlike the last time y'all tuned into this smutty crack fic with my half decent attempt at a plot line, he was now clad in baggy gray sweatpants and a white tank top, his hair glistening in the sunlight, still damp from their "discussion" in the shower.

"I didn't give you permission to use my _stove_ either, Dr. Romano." Peter warned in a low voice as he sauntered into the kitchen. "This might just provoke another one of our little discussions, THIS time with you bent over my kitchen counter-" He stopped dead in his tracks, gawking at the scene before him. Reese saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, waving at his father like the bald man had been there every morning of his life.

Robert plucked the boy off of the counter, setting him on the floor to run to his father. Peter picked him up, kissing his head, confusion still evident in his face. He gave a small thanks to God that Reese was deaf, keeping him from raising any questions about his grand entrance.

"Your sister brought him over, said she had some doctor's appointment to get to. Seemed like she was under the impression that you were working late," he said, nonchalantly flipping a pancake. "Figured I couldn't just leave the little tyke out in the cold, now could I?"

Peter set the kid down, leaving him to run off to the living room to wait for breakfast. He then came up behind the man, wrapping his arms around him just as he'd done only an hour or so before, hugging him from behind. He pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Okay. Now I'm REALLY worried about you!" He laughed, disbelief still embedded in his voice. "I leave you alone for 15 minutes to get dressed only to find you in a robe...MY robe, flipping pancakes...and last time I checked, your reputation says you eat kids like him for breakfast!"

"Oh come on Peter, be fair now!" he whined, moving his bacon to a plate. "You of all people should know that the _med students _are a more practical choice, mostly because they're bigger and too tired to fight back."

"And if you're really _that_ peeved about the robe, I suppose I _could_ take it off... " he murmured, his voice taking on a provocative tone.

"Nah, keep it on, " Peter said, sliding his hands underneath the thick, soft fabric to feel his bare skin. Romano leaned back against the man, closing his eyes briefly. "It looks better on you." he rumbled against his temple, causing a shiver to move down the man's spine.

The three ate not long after, the two men sitting side by side, sipping coffee and chowing down on hot cakes while Reese signed excitedly across from them about his night at his aunt's. He went on and on about his trip to the park and the movies they'd watched as the two nodded their heads occasionally, letting him know they were still listening.

'What happened to your hair?' He signed to the bald surgeon between bites of pancake once he'd finished his story.

'None of your beeswax. Drink your juice.' Romano signed back.

'Don't be rude.' Peter signed, taking a sip of his coffee.

'Don't mind him, he's just a bit of a grouch.' He sighed to Reese, a wry smile covering his face. The bald man feigned annoyance at Benton, stabbing a piece of his pancake whilst glaring at him.

Benton just reached over to him, pinching his cheek, immediately dissolving his grumpy expression as he sniggered, swatting him away.

Once they'd finished and picked up, they relocated to the living room, with Reese insisting that he catch Spongebob while it was on.

The two sat side by side on the couch in front of the tv. Benton turned his head to look at Romano, who was watching Reese, amused at his antics. The boy had since plopped himself right in front of the tv, eyes glued to it as his show started up.

Peter grabbed his hand and squeezed it, gaining his attention.

"Don't tell me the _all mighty and all powerful Robert 'Rocket' Romano _has gone all soft on me." He teased lightly, looking into his soft brown eyes. Romano gave him a grin, revealing his dimples. Benton's heart skipped a beat.

"If word gets out about any of this, I might just have to kill you, _Dr. Benton_." He warned, his soft smile not making him look the least bit threatening.

"Oh, you wouldn't dream of it!" Peter challenged, bringing up his hand to caress the side of Romano's face, leaning closer to him.

"_Oh yes, I would_." Robert purred, following his lead. Peter's eyes flicked from Robert's own to his lips, moving himself ever closer. Before either of them knew it, their mouths were just barely touching.

And then, Murphy's law smacked them both in the face with its fat cock.

Both Benton's and Romano's pagers started going mad from where they'd left them on the coffee table the previous night, on the other side of the room.

Benton growled, pulling away from the man reluctantly. He crossed the room, grabbing both of their pagers.

_911 to the OR. _

The bald man swore, his arrangements from the previous night foiled, his time away from his administrative obligations cut short...not to mention his time with _Peter_.

"Damn! Looks like you'll have to be taking off my robe, anyway..." the taller man groaned, sauntering off to get ready for a probable trip through the ol' Cook County Cesspool.


	9. OhBoy

Less than a half hour later, the pair burst through the doors of Cook County, together...through the patient entrance, of course.

Romano raced to the locker room, immediately changing out of the wrinkled suit he'd put on from the previous night, before his appearance could raise any questions. Peter dragged a very annoyed Reese off to the hospital daycare, who wanted nothing more than to go back home with his father and sit around watching SpongeBob with his weird new bald friend.

The next time they saw each other had been in the scrub room, accompanied by Drs. Elizabeth Corday and Donald Anspaugh.

As luck had fucked them all in that moment, a police helicopter had crashed a bit earlier that morning, leaving them up to their necks in trauma cases. They probably wouldn't be able to sit on their asses for at least another 8 hours, assuming no one died.

They were all concentrating hard on scrubbing when Anspaugh decided to look up briefly, giving Romano a good once over.

"Good God, Robert! What the hell happened to your neck?!" The man exclaimed with wide eyes, looking straight at the rather large, rather _noticeable _hickey Peter left behind from the night before.

Romano's cheeks grew red as he grappled for an excuse.

"Err...it's seems I've had a small infestation of spiders lately...in my house, I mean," he explained quickly, eyes glued to his hands and the white foam that covered them. "I get bit every now and then. Sons of bitches are really attracted to heat." He earned a look from Peter that made his knees weak and his cheeks threaten to grow even redder.

"Sounds dreadful. You might want to get that looked at. You sure they're not venomous?" He fret, genuinely concerned for the bald surgeon. Elizabeth merely shot Robert a knowing glance, looking like she was physically having to hold herself back from busting out laughing.

"Oh, no. If they were, I'd probably be dead by now. They're no problem!" He joked in attempt to cover up his humiliation.

"Whatever you say, Chief." Anspaugh retorted, backing into a scrub room, the entire occurrence going completely over his head.

"You do anything interesting with your Friday night..._Chief?_" Elizabeth asked him sweetly, eyeing the bruise on his neck.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Romano sneered as he finished scrubbing, turning to enter his respective OR.

As the bald man exited the room, Corday chuckled, giving Peter a wry smile. "I'd love to meet the lucky soul who got at it with _that_!"

Peter gave her a laugh of his own, shaking his head slightly. _Oh, if only she knew!_  
H  
His patient was a fucking _train wreck_.

He was stable and everything. But after the first 6 hours on his case, Romano was becoming quite tired of staring at his insides, cutting this with a ten blade, suturing that with at least a mile's worth of o silk, and cauterizing more bleeders than Bill Cosby's total number of sexual assault allegations.

Not much in the mood for conversation with the circulating nurses and anesthesiologist in the OR, and expecting that if he _did _start talking they'd eventually land on the subject of his "spider bite", which his heavy surgical gown failed to conceal, the bald man only had his classical music CD to keep him company, which played softly in the background as he worked.

Eventually, though, even his favorites by Mozart threatened to make him doze off.

As much as he'd been trying to shake the developing habit that'd threatened to form during most of his solo surgeries, Romano's weary brain began to drift back to thoughts of the certain tall, rather _handsome_ surgeon he'd been with just that morning.

He felt as if he were 16 again, his mind constantly drifting to those lustful thoughts he'd been having ever since that fateful day in his office. They came to him whenever he got a free moment, but mostly when Donald threw one of his mind-numbing staff meetings about budget changes and respecting your colleagues, as well as...oh, God, who really cares?

Romano continued fixing his patient's battered pancreas, suddenly yearning for the next time he could see _him _again. Feel his gentle touch against his sensitive, bare skin, his strong arms holding him as he took the time to familiarize himself with his body, his fingers tracing and caressing every inch they could reach.

The bald surgeon began to feel a bit warm in the rather nippy, mechanically functioning OR, his thoughts so vivid he could practically _feel_ Peter's hands stroking his chest, his lips warm and welcoming against his own. Arousal pooled from deep within him, making him feel even warmer.

His thoughts continued to escalate despite his attempts to quell them, imagining the way Peter would crash his mouth against his own, drawing him to open his mouth to the man as he'd ravaged him, his hands rubbing up and down his back, finding their way down to his hips, and _lower_...

He shifted slightly on his feet as he worked, walking up closer to the operating table in the hopes that it'd cover his now bulging erection from the view of his coworkers. Despite the fact that he was sweating underneath it at his wild thought process, he was now thankful for the thickness of his surgical gown. _'Well THAT was a fucking wake up call..._'

He continued putting some more sutures into the anesthetized man on the table, trying to veer his thoughts towards the topic of Kerry Weaver, or the bowel disimpaction he'd done as a lowly med student, _anything _to take his mind away from his swollen manhood...not to mention, Peter. Peter _Fucking_ Benton and his broad chest, his silky smooth skin, his well-defined abs, the v-line at his hips, leading down to his thick, substantially large member, standing up like a king sized Snickers bar..._his _king sized Snickers bar, weeping at the tip, just _aching _for his touch...

Just then, someone burst through the doors of the OR, clad in a surgical gown and mask, stepping in front of the charge nurses to be gloved.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Romano."

'_Speak of the fucking devil..._'

"Dr. Benton," Robert greeted, his eyes glued to the pancreas he was still repairing, feeling his cheeks flush at the man's voice. "To what do we owe the pleasure on this fine Autumn day?"

"Well, both of my patients made it to post-op about an hour ago. Heard you'd been in here since noon with this guy and figured I could lend a helping hand." He explained, taking his place on the other side of the bald man. He didn't dare look up from his work, afraid he'd lose every last fuck he had left and pull him into a passionate kiss, right over their patient.

"Appreciate the help." Romano replied, his eyes cast downward as Peter began to work alongside him. The butterflies in his stomach made it difficult to concentrate, but lord did he try.

"You feeling okay, Dr. Romano? You look a little flushed." Benton asked innocently. Against his better judgement, Robert looked up, only to find the other surgeon looking back, concern in his masked face. His heart skipped a beat when he looked into his eyes, fleetingly, before he turned his head back to the task at hand, determined not to let Peter get to him.

"Now that you mention it, I am feeling a little bit warm. Shirley, can we get the a/c going?"

"It's October, Dr. Romano." Shirley said matter-of-factly, shooting him a confused look. "The room temp is already 63 degrees. What's gotten into you?"

"Peter." He retorted without thinking. All eyes in the OR went on him in a heartbeat.

Quickly, he recognized his mistake. His skin felt like it was boiling. What was he, some kind of blushing school girl, freaking out when the head of the football team got picked as her lab partner?!

"Uh...Peter! You mind helping me visualize this section, please?" He asked frantically, looking up at the man. He could tell from the way his eyes were crinkled that he was grinning at him from behind the mask.

Benton moved to help him with the task, knowing full well that he didn't even need him in the first place. He went along with his excuse anyway. "For you, Dr. Romano, _anything._"

Romano swallowed hard, wishing that the floor would just swallow him whole.

They worked in agreeable silence for a time, suturing, finalizing Romano's previous efforts, and running through the open cavity, leaving no organ unchecked, working almost as one.

As Benton finished up with their patient's liver, his gloved hand brushed Romano's, causing the man to flinch slightly as if he'd been electrocuted by his touch. Benton looked up, noticing the almost ever present coloring on his cheeks peeking out from behind his mask, the tips of his ears pink as it spread. He noticed his pupils were dilated amidst his coffee colored eyes, and Benton could have _sworn_ his normally steady surgeon's hand was shaking ever so slightly. Any untrained eye could draw the conclusion that he was operating on cocaine.

The taller surgeon relished in the effect he had on Robert, watching him writhe, his cool slowly breaking down in his very presence. In all his years in surgery nothing, not a patient nor any other surgeon had ever managed to make him shake. He wanted nothing more than to ease his shaking by pulling him into his arms, holding him close as he kissed him ravenously, consuming his very being.

The tables had turned a bit then, with Benton losing his focus on the task at hand. They were only about 15 or 20 minutes from being able to close the guy and go home, and having to remain civil around one another, keeping their strong feelings at bay seemed to make that amount of time multiple by a hundred.

And despite the dizzying feeling Romano got every time his hand even came within an inch of Peter's, he got by.

One stitch at a time.


	10. LateNightVibes

He slowly awoke to the distant sound of rain pattering outside. Silvery moonlight shone through a window in the far side of the room, allowing him to make out the silhouettes of the objects in it. His surroundings were dark, but he could still make out a warm presence surrounding him, an arm holding him in place. His head moved up and down rhythmically as the presence inhaled and exhaled at a slow, steady pace.

He became aware of a loud thumping in his left ear, the familiar scent of cologne filling his head.

He picked his head up slightly to look at the man, and sure enough, he found two brown eyes gazing right back at him, full of some profound emotion. They seemed full of contentment, tranquility...and dare he say, _love_.

Romano was met with a soft kiss as the other man leaned slightly to meet his raised head, the arm around him tightening its grip slightly.

The other man gently nudged him, pushing him so that he was lying on his flat back. He then came up on top of him, straddling his hips. He stripped himself of his T-shirt in a leisurely manner, tossing it off to one side, and Robert drank in the sight of his bare chest and sleek abdomen, feeling the hard muscles there with his fingertips.

The man then brought his head back down to Robert's, kissing him passionately as his hands slid under his own shirt, his bare skin tingling from his touch.

He moved his mouth down against his neck as the man beneath him moved his hands to his bare back, tracing down his spine, across the back of his rib cage, just about _everywhere_ with his index finger, willing him on.

Robert gasped as his mouth hit some particularly sensitive spots, using a hand to press the man's head down, his lips pressing harder against his neck.

"_Robert_..." the man said softly, moving lower, pulling at the neck of his shirt, exposing the skin of his upper chest, his hot, wet lips neglecting no part of it. Romano moaned softly, his nails gently grazing the man's back, up and down as he continued with rapid succession.

"Robert..." he repeated once more, his voice slightly louder than before. Robert shut his eyes tight as the man reached the dip at the base of his neck, tracing it with the tip of his tongue.

"Robert!"

He awoke a second time, not as pleasantly I might add. He squinted against the light illuminating wherever he was, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes as they stung.

He realized the man who'd been kissing him in his dreams was now crouched down right in front of him, surveying him with tired eyes.

"Peter..." he grumbled softly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he remembered where he was.

As it turned out, Romano's train wreck of a patient hadn't been the only one. It wasn't until the two had scrubbed out completely and Romano had walked to the surgical desk to sign off on any final orders in need of his attention that yet _another_ critical case came his way. Paramedics had found her deep under the smoldering rubble, earning her a free ticket to emergency surgery, and Romano himself another 5 hours stuck at County.

He felt a mix of relief and major disappointment as he found out Dale Edson had to be the one scrubbing in on this one, as Peter was called off for some consult in the ER, unable to attend to the new case fast enough.

Even when the patient's injuries became more manageable, allowing him to work at a more reasonable pace, Edson's constant pissing and whining about how inconvenient their accident was for him that particular night, as he'd currently been missing out on whoring himself out to some intern from pediatrics made it so he could hardly hear himself think. His heated daydreaming about Peter had been put on hold, much to his frustration.

It'd been around midnight when he'd stumbled through the doors of the surgical lounge, sprawling out in one of its overstuffed chairs after he'd doctored up some coffee for himself. And by the looks of it, he'd never managed to finish that coffee.

"I thought you'd left." Romano said as his eyes adjusted more to the light, scanning the lounge for any unwelcome audience. It was empty, save for the two of them.

"I was waiting for you to finish your shift. Thought you could use a ride home after a run like that." Peter explained, a hand on Robert's knee, warmth soaking through his thin scrubs.

"What time is it? Feels like I was out forever." He questioned, his hand moving to cover Peter's on his knee. His head felt heavy, his eyes like they were going to roll out of his sockets. Time felt like a thick jelly.

"Almost 1 a.m.," Benton replied, standing up, turning his hand over so he could take Romano's. He helped pull him from of his spot, pressing a kiss to the top of his bald head. "C'mon, lets get the hell out of here."  
H  
His eyes cast out the window as he watched his city pass him by from inside the car, his eyelids drooping as his body threatened to loose its everlasting battle with the Sandman.

Not wanting Peter to have to _carry _him out of his car like a drunk, he tried to spark up conversation, with every intention of keeping himself awake.

"Weren't you supposed to take that little munchkin of yours with you?" He asked the man in the driver's seat, eyes flicking back to the booster seat that'd been occupied with Reese's tiny presence around half a day ago. It felt like half a year.

"Reese is spending tonight with his mother and her husband." He said shortly, his tone sharp, his eyes fixed at the road in front of him.

"Oh." Romano was almost sorry he'd asked. He'd never assumed his relationship with his ex-wife had ever been all that good, and never pressed him on the matter, even _before_ they shacked up. Things had more than likely gotten worse. She already snagged herself a husband?  
'_No wonder he agreed to start pitching for the same team_...'

Noticing he'd gotten all quiet again after his almost petulant reply, Peter took one hand off the wheel, grabbing Romano's left hand, giving it a squeeze.

"You get anything interesting after I went to the ER?" Peter asked, changing the subject.

Romano scoffed, his gaze fixed towards the man's face, colored in light from the street lamps towering above them. "I wish. After the first 45 minutes or so it was all just routine stuff. No race against time or whatnot. Barely even broke a sweat." He rambled, absentmindedly stroking Peter's knuckles with his thumb.

"The worst part was Edson. Little weasel couldn't seem to shut up!" He earned a small chuckle from the man. "And you owe me one, you know! After about 10 minutes of it I was ready to slash open my wrists with a scalpel just to get away!"

"You poor thing." Peter teased.

"Up yours, fuckhead!"

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that..." he retorted, his voice low as he turned briefly to shoot him a sly smile. Romano looked down at their hands, shifting in his seat at his implication. He felt a strange sense of joy at making the smile return to the man's face so quickly, pulling him away from thinking about his problems. He'd never noticed before just how lovely Peter looked when he smiled.

And not the false kind he'd often give him just because he was his boss, laughing at his stupid jokes and wise cracks, or agreeing with him on a _treatment plan _or some crap like that. It was the genuine smiles that reached his eyes that would make Romano melt a little inside, like his heart was made of instant mashed potatoes.

Frankly, he'd be happy if the only other responsibility he ever had again was to make that man smile.

They got to Robert's house within the next 5 minutes, just as the bald man was beginning to lose his battle with sleep once again.

"Dr. Romano," Peter began, pulling his keys from the ignition as soon as he'd parked. "May I walk you to your door?"

"What is this, the 60's?!" Romano snarked, undoing his seatbelt. Peter shrugged, giving him that wonderful smile of his once more.

"You never know who might be lurking." The other man replied, climbing out of the car. Romano followed suit, taking his place next to Peter on the sidewalk, who took his hand, holding it in his for the comically short duration of their walk to his doorstep.

They turned to each other, unsure of how to proceed.

"So...I guess this is it then. I'll see you around tomorrow?" Peter said, looking into Robert's eyes.

"Yeah, I'm on at noon, thank God."

"Me as well," he replied, shifting on his feet. He sighed then, casting a glance toward his parked car. "Ah, man. It's late. I'd better get going...and you'd better get that ass straight to bed, _Dr. Romano_!" he finished, caressing the side of the shorter man's face, who was smiling warmly up at him.

Benton leaned down then, pulling Romano into a goodnight kiss that started off sweet and gentle, and ended with the dog-tired surgeon pressed against his door, their tongues striving for dominance over the other. One of Peter's hands blocked Romano's head from making contact with the hard wooden door behind him, while the other crept under his shirt and sweatshirt, playing with the auburn down that dusted his chest.

The kiss broke as they stopped for air, the only perceptible noise being the soft sound of their lips as they pulled back ever so slightly, their labored breathing, and the low, electric hum of a nearby street light. Robert held Peter's head in both hands, gazing into his eyes, stroking both of his cheeks with his thumbs. He felt a certain sense of disappointment at the realization that they'd be alone for the night, that he'd go without feeling his arms around him as he fell asleep and wake up to the sound of silence, rather than the man's heartbeat in his ear, or his deep, velvety voice, husky from a night's rest.

He understood at that point that he didn't just enjoy Peter's presence. He _craved_ it, couldn't stand to be _without_ it. The very thought of his absence in that moment became almost too much to bear. So, naturally, he fought against it.

Gently, he brought the man's head in, resting their foreheads together.

"Stay with me..." he whispered, his voice getting so quiet it was barely within hearing range. A rarity for him. "I don't want to be without you tonight..."

"Robert, I..." Benton started on another one of his excuses as to _why_ he just couldn't spend the night with his boss, but trailed off as soon as he'd pulled back slightly, catching the look in his eyes. His breath hitched in his throat as he looked into those dark brown pools, his very expression alone imploring him to stay with an intoxicating intensity that he just couldn't find the strength to say no to.

Against his better judgement, which seemed to be the very foundation of their relationship, he remained rooted to his spot, gazing at the man who seemed to hold is entire heart in a vice-like grip in those strong yet delicate surgeon's hands of his. He pulled the man into his arms, holding him tight, nuzzling the top of his bald head.

"Okay, I won't leave you," he murmured against him, the heat coming off him making him realize just how cold out it was that night.

He let the man go after a few more seconds so he could unlock the front door. And when he did, he was attacked by a blurry mass of gray fur, almost knocking him right over as he stepped in.

"Jesus Christ!" Benton yowled, clutching his chest, nearly stumbling over and falling off the doorstep at the sudden movement from the dark doorway. Gretel, Robert's vaguely horse-sized Bouvier thought nothing of the stranger who she'd nearly given a heart attack to, bombarding the short man with kisses.

"Thanks for the heads up, Robbie!"he yelled as his heart rate came back within its normal range. Romano merely laughed at his terrified expression, then grimaced terribly when Gretel's big wet tongue hit his open mouth.

"Alright. Alright! Down girl!" he commanded her, flicking on the light. "Don't be scared Peter, she doesn't bite much. Less that you do, in fact!" he snarked as the taller surgeon stepped inside, who was now taking in the appearance of his lavish home. It was large, yet sparsely decorated. Perhaps dating the Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery had its perks.

"You never told me you had a dog." Peter wondered aloud as Romano ambled toward his kitchen, both Gretel and himself following him like ducklings through a park.

"You never asked!" he whined as they reached their destination. "Poor girl had to be left with the dog sitter across the street while _somebody_ took me home for themselves!" he explained, feigning annoyance to the other surgeon.

Romano opened up a cabinet over his kitchen counter, standing on his tip-toes in an attempt to snatch the can of dog food that sat_ just _out of his reach. Peter watched him with cruel amusement as he continued to struggle, and even tried jumping up to get it once or twice, to no avail.

Finally, though, he stepped next to the struggling surgeon, reaching a hand up and extracting the can with ease, holding it out in one hand for him to take, which he did.

"Thanks." Robert said briskly, cheeks burning with embarrassment. He peeled back its covering, dumping its contents into a metal bowl labeled 'MY BITCH'. The bear-like creature ate as if she'd never had a full meal in her life.

"What would you ever do without me?" Benton said sweetly, adoring the grumpy look on the man's face. He pinched his cheek for the umpteenth time, attempting without fail to get him smiling again.

"It's getting pretty late," Romano said, sparing a glance at the clock on his wall. It read 2:02 a.m.. He recognized with surprise just how long it'd taken them to change into their street clothes and drive home. "Most hookers even quit working at this ungodly hour. What do you say we...?"

"Lead the way." Peter retorted, answering his unfinished question.

And so, our two beloved surgical heroes clambered up the stairs of Romano's spacious Chicago home, their legs threatening to give out from their excessive fatigue.

The next time they spoke, they were in the bathroom.

"I've got a spare tooth brush. Second drawer on your left," Romano informed the taller man, holding his own covered in toothpaste in one hand. Peter had other ideas.

As soon as Robert had let his guard down, he snatched the brush out of his hand, shoving it into his own mouth.

"Eye for an eye, _Dr. Romano_." He purred, words uttered around Robert's toothbrush as the shorter man gaped at him. He was too tired to fight Peter on the matter, and hopped on top of his bathroom counter, watching the man with narrow eyes as he brushed up.

And before the strange bald surgeon knew it, he was in his king sized bed with Peter _Fucking _Benton of all people, curled up against his side, his head down by his chest. It was almost exactly as he'd dreamed earlier that night, with the exception of the large Bouvier that now sandwiched him in between herself and the burly surgeon.

"I always thought you were kidding about having a mirror on your ceiling!" Peter wondered aloud, gazing up at his reflection.

"Have you ever known me to kid, Dr. Benton?" Romano questioned, gazing up at Peter's reflection, a look of mischief crossing his face.

"You hoping to try it out with me sometime?" He asked provocatively, looking back down at Peter, a hand stroking his now bare chest. They'd both changed out of their clothes from the day, leaving them both in nothing but boxers in that large bed of his.

"Not at this wretched hour! Why don't you pipe down and get some sleep, you horny little bastard!" The man whined, earning a glare from Romano.

"What the hell did I say about calling me little? I swear to fucking God Peter-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. All sorts of demeaning labor and scutwork intermingled with days where I'm assigned nothing but taking care of old charts until rapture. I know the drill by now, _Robbie_," Peter teased, squeezing the pissy surgeon in both of his arms, roughly kissing the side of his fat head as he squirmed slightly, despite making no real effort to push him away. "You could never be that mean to _me, _Robbie!"

"I'll fucking destroy you,_ Petey_! Mark my words!" he griped, trying to nudge the man's head away with one hand. Benton only doubled his efforts, moving his hands down to his rib cage, digging his fingers into him, tickling the whiney surgeon, reducing him to giggles. He clambered on top of Romano, who was trying to struggle out of his grip, straddling his hips as he continued.

"Cut it the hell out! Damn it, Peter, I swear to fucking _God_ you're fired!" he howled in between his laughter, trying to shove him off to no avail. "Gretel, help me! Bite the bastard, or something!" he yelled, patting the animal's large, scruffy head. Gretel shot him one unsympathetic look, then put her head back down in an attempt to sleep through whatever bullshit the two men were up to at such an early hour.

Eventually, Peter's brutal assault had reduced as exhaustion set in amidst the pair. The man sat, still straddling Robert as his efforts had turned to him absentmindedly stroking his sides, sleep threatening to overcome him. He let out a soft sigh, calmed by his touch after a hard day's work.

"I love you, Peter..." the bald man reminded him, gazing up at him, his expression one of tiredness and vulnerability.

"I know." Benton replied, climbing off him to lie facing him, before pulling him into his arms, bringing him close, looking into those tired eyes.

"I love you, too."


	11. WorkplaceAntics

It was yet another gorgeous Tuesday afternoon in Chicago, Illinois.

The sun was out.

Kerry Weaver had just reprimanded a subordinate for having the audacity to breathe in her godly presence.

A patient was threatening to sue because he'd been charged 1200 for an ice pack and a CT.

And our very own Robert Romano had just taken a break from his administrative responsibilities to take a jaunt off to the vending machine.

He'd parted from his mountain of paperwork partially because he'd been craving some MM's, but mostly to keep his eyes from glazing over after his fourth or fifth hour of doing nothing BUT paperwork.

As administrator it was the cross he had to bear, he would often muse. He had supreme power over his hospital, he could do almost anything he wanted but had to sacrifice a few days out of the week to do all the boring stuff his job called for—like budgetary reports and writing memos, tedious crap like that. Not to mention whenever one of his staff gets into some deep shit, and possibly kills someone—take a wild guess as to who has to deal with that mess.

He popped another couple of MM's in his mouth as he returned to his office, noticing his door had been left slightly ajar. He thought nothing of it, though, and plopped down into the chair behind his desk, gaze fixed out his window as he procrastinated on resuming his activities.

He loved the administrative power with a passion, as well as the massive power move he'd made, becoming chief directly _after_ his sexual harassment allegations. That kitten had drowned almost as soon as it'd been brought up, leaving him on top. Man, he was good. But often times he had to admit, he'd missed the early days, when his career had been made up of all surgery and a lot less paperwork.

Those were the good ol' days. His mind trailed back to when he'd been a surgery-hungry resident, able to function on nothing but 2 hours of sleep and 7 cups of coffee a day. He turned his swivel chair back to face his desk, eyeing the stack of paperwork on his desk with melancholy.

What'd he'd give to go back. The thrill he got from picking up his first scalpel, performing each procedure for the very first time, not to mention his first solo surgery...

"_Fuck!_" Robert jumped a mile as his gaze shifted below his desk, the bag of MM's in his hand falling to the floor. The rainbow colored candy scattered all over his floor as he gawked at _him_.

"You're a real creep, you know that?!" He yelled at the man crouched underneath his desk.

"I've been waiting for you, _Dr. Romano_." Benton purred, eyeing the short surgeon like he was a club sandwich. Romano shifted in his chair as the taller surgeon licked his lips with intent.

"Don't you have surgery? Or did you sneak away just to prowl into my office and hide under my desk like some sort of dateline predator!" He yapped, heart still pounding from Peter's little surprise.

"Just got out. Figured you could use some company in this big office of yours..." Benton said, his voice down to a sensual murmur as he moved his hands up to the man's clothed thighs, running them up and down in a teasing manner. Despite his rapidly developing excitement, Robert did his best to resist Benton's endeavors.

"Well Peter, it seems that we're just gonna have to hold off on another one of our little _discussions, _as I've got to clear this behemoth on my desk by 8 tonight. So why don't you wrestle up another surgery, or if you can't do that, run down to the cafeteria, get yourself something nice and—." He stopped abruptly, inhaling sharply as one of Peter's large hands came up between his thighs, rubbing his member through his slacks.

"I mean it! I've really got to get this done! And you've got no right to barge into my office, acting like a nutmeat...and don't you dare look at me like that!" He complained to the taller man who was continuing to stare at him like he was lunch, persistently trying to break him down.

"Oh come on, Dr. Romano. There's no reason why you can't take just a _little_ break..." he murmured, tugging on the man's leather belt. "Besides, you've been working _hard _today."

"Peter..." Robert warned the tantalizing surgeon, who refused to back down. He pulled on his boss's zipper, then ran his hand up underneath the front of his shirt, brushing it across his stomach. "Peter! For the love of God!"

"Don't worry, _Robbie_. I'll make quick work of you..." Peter hummed, pulling down Romano's slacks, leaving his lower half bare save for his boxers, and his slacks, which were now around his ankles.

"Dr. Benton, I _really_ don't have time for this..." he whined as Peter kissed the inside of his thighs, nipping the delicate skin there. A hand covering each knee, the man gently pushed Robert's legs open, then worked on pushing the fabric of his boxers up from his thighs, allowing him greater access.

"I'm serious Peter," he growled, his voice taking on a stern tone. He was determined, this time, not to let him win. "After hours, honest to God, I'm all yours, but if you don't let me go in 5 seconds, so help me, I'm going to—oh _God!_"

His death threat had been cut short by Peter having pulled out his length, now as hard as a rock in his hand. He rubbed it slowly yet gently, pausing in between each stroke to run his thumb along its sensitive pink tip.

"Shhh...just let me take care of you, Dr. Romano..." The bald surgeon threw his head back, staring at the ceiling as he lost himself yet again in the feeling of Peter's hands on his body, the skin on skin contact making him feel  
a certain sense of ecstasy only _he_ could inflict on him. As much as he wanted to shove him away, assert his dominance over his shameless subordinate, and get the _fuck_ back to the bland drudgery of filling out and filing paperwork—he just..._couldn't_.

Cruel irony. The noble Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery and Ruler of All That is Medical had but one weakness; and that weakness is but a puny surgical attending, who'd still been a _resident_ about a week ago. There was nothing else to it, either. No harsh blackmailing, no threats to his position or whatnot.

Just some tall, strong, intense, tantalizing—dare he say, _sexy_, fine specimen of a man who got him riled up one day, and with almost minimal effort, managed to steal his heart right from his chest.

Not to mention, his _virginity_.

"Stop, Peter, _please..._" Romano moaned softly, making no attempt to stop Peter from bringing his hands underneath his ass in his chair, squeezing his firm backside. He wheeled him closer to the desk, pulling him until his mouth could reach his erection, already slick with pre-come due to his irrepressible excitement, despite his words.

The taller surgeon brought him to his mouth, his tongue wiping away the salty beads of fluid from his arousal.

"P-Peter...please, we...we _can't_ do this, I have work to do..." Romano spluttered, his resistance getting weaker as his desire for the sweet, euphoric release only _he _could draw from him. Despite his better judgment, as he'd been following it in weeks past, he just wanted Peter to take him right there in his office, do anything he wanted to him and wring him dry. He craved the certain sense of bliss only _he_ had ever given him.

He bit his tongue hard to stifle the scream of pleasure threatening to pass his lips as Benton took him in his entirety into his hot, wet mouth, hitting his shank in a single stroke. He pulled the bald man even closer, bobbing his head as he sucked and licked up and down his arousal, pulling it in and out of his mouth at a fast, steady pace. He paused occasionally, allowing Romano's swollen length to reach the back of his throat, testing the man's ability to keep himself from throwing the idea of keeping quiet to the wind.

He reached his hands down to Peter's head, tracing his ears, gently scratching his scalp with his nails, caressing the sides of his face, _anything _to encourage his actions, to praise him for the fiery sensation that crept from between his legs all the way up to his pounding heart.

He moved his hips as best he could between the bottom of his chair and Peter's mouth, just _barely _able to get any leverage between the two.

The man stopped for a moment, pulling Romano's enlarged member, slick with saliva and pre-come oh so slowly out of his mouth. He traced Romano's thigh lazily with one hand, gazing up at him, his expression brimming with the satisfaction of having given the man such an agonizing sense of gratification.

"You still want me to leave, _Dr. Romano_?" Benton purred, licking the taste of him off of his lips. He observed the man, his face now flushed, perspiration evident on his forehead as he panted, wanting more. No matter what else he'd say in denial, the look on his face would give him away, his eyes full of an almost animalistic desire, practically _begging_ for more.

"God no...not until you've put that mouth to some real good work..." Robert rasped as the other man brought his hand around to gently cup his balls, his fingers playing with the delicate pouch as his mouth moved back towards his turgid length with every intention of finishing what he'd started.

"_Oh Dr. Benton. You bad, bad boy..._" he whispered as the man continued on his merry way all over again. Romano could feel something building up, that he was getting close...

To his shock and absolute horror, a new sound echoed through what had been his quiet office, save for the sound of Peter's mouth against his wet length, and the soft little mewls bubbling from the back of Romano's throat as the man worked.

A fucking doorknob.

_His _fucking doorknob.

Unable to think of anything else, or at least something that'd keep him from quite _literally_ being caught with his pants down, he grabbed his desk with both hands, pulling himself in his chair as close as he could get, concealing his appallingly indecent state from anyone in front of his desk. Peter hit his fat head on the underside of it as he was shoved forward, nearly choking on Robert's rocket on the way back.

At that moment, Donald FUCKING Anspaugh barged through his door like the fucking Koolaid man, clad in blood stained navy blue scrubs, looking as if he'd just returned from his 7th tour of Vietnam. His eyes were sunken in and dark-ringed from what had to have been hours upon HOURS of surgery. He looked like he could drop dead from exhaustion.

And right now, our beloved surgical hero Robert Romano wanted to race to post-op and personally thank every ragged, mangled patient that kept him so busy. Because it seemed that in his weary haze, Anspaugh failed to mention Romano's wide eyes and rose colored cheeks, sweat covering his forehead noticeably.

"I'm sorry to bother you Robert, but do you happen to have any idea where Dr. Edson is? He ran out mid-surgery, saying something about a date with a...Stacy Walker in pediatrics?" His voice was like nails on chalkboard compared to Peter's, and not exactly a sound for sore ears in his current..._elated_ mental state, for the lack of a better word. '_Talk about a fucking turn off! The hell do I care if Edson bailed on an appendectomy for some rando half his age! That's what orderlies and nurses are for, jackoff!'_

Almost as if on queue, Peter had decided to continue his gallant efforts with stealth, his tongue swirling around the head of Romano's member slowly, making the man squirm as Anspaugh droned on.

"I swear to God, residents these days. They aren't worth a damn! All they seem able to attend to is their swollen egos and their social life. You know back when I was Dale's age, I never had a girlfriend, and do you know why?" '_Because you're a complete and total bore?!_'

"Your devotion to surgery, of course!" Romano answered back, feigning enthusiasm and a smile, despite his prized surgical attending still on his knees under his desk, running his tongue along the slit between the tip of his member and his foreskin. He gave a swat to the man's head from under his desk, careful not to move too suddenly as to draw attention to himself. Peter ignored him, giving his all into making Romano writhe and stutter in the other man's presence. All thanks to _him_.

"Right you are! See, you get it! Residents nowadays will just never be the same as they were in _our_ day, and they'll just keep getting worse as generations pass!" '_Oh my fucking God get to the FUCKING POINT ALREADY._' His toes curled in his shoes as Benton decided to take him down to his base again. If only he'd locked that _stupid fucking door_!

"Ah, well. So, have you seen the little weasel around? Or am I going to have to put out an amber alert?" He questioned, smiling, once again suspecting jack shit. Oh Donny, when will you learn?

Peter took that particular moment to take his mouth away from his length to bring his hand back up to it, pinching the tip as hard as he could without hurting him. Romano's legs twitched as he struggled to answer.

"Well, as a matter of fact I haven't. In fact, I've been in here all afternoon doing paper work. But I'll let you know if he...if he stops by." He replied, speaking slower than necessary, terrified he'd lose his composure in front of the lout before him, staring him down with kind eyes.

"Well that's a shame. A real shame. You know, that man kind of reminds my of my own son, God rest his soul. Stubborn, prone to making these snide little comments but deep down, I know he's a good man. He really is." He ranted on, dreamily gazing at one of Romano's overstuffed leather arm chairs, petting the top of it gently it as if it _were_ his son. The bald man behind the desk felt a pang of regret for the man having lost his son so early. To that wretched beast cancer, no less.

His internal lamenting was immediately stomped out by the sensation of Peter having slipped a wet finger inside of his hot, tight entrance, no doubt trying to get a rise out of him while his guard was down. Well, it worked.

Romano groaned loudly as the man's fingertip hit his prostate, rubbing it teasingly as he peppered kisses across his thighs. The bald man put his head in his hands, slamming his eyes shut. '_God strike me dead. I'm fucking READY_.'

"Robert, are you all right?" The man quit petting the chair longingly, and squinted at Robert, taking a small step closer. "You're not looking so good. Should I get someone to take a look at you?"

"Come to think of it, Don, I have been having one hell of a migraine this whole damn day. I took some Advil earlier, but I think it'd just be better if I went home and pulled the covers over my head..." he moaned again, covering most of his face with his hands.

"You poor man. Well I suppose I could push your deadlines for all that till tomorrow. You're obviously not well." Anspaugh said matter-of-factly, gazing at the papers on his desk, then looking at poor Romano with empathy. Poor _sick _Romano, who just happened to have the migraine of his life.

And his name was Peter Benton. Surgical attending as of one week ago and conning conniving thief of his heart.

"Alright then. I'll leave you to it." Anspaugh said, finally, _mercifully _taking his grand exit, turning toward the man's door. "Feel better soon, Romano."

"Oh and Don, can you be a dear and lock the door on your way out?" Robert asked a bit more frantically that necessary. His voice had risen a few octaves as Peter had restored his attention to his arousal, still battering his prostate with one digit, picking up his pace.

Unsurprisingly, the man didn't listen, Romano's question falling on deaf ears.

Less than 5 seconds later, our beloved surgical hero and favorite Chief of Staff, Robert Romano, was crying out into the crook of his own elbow as he came, his seed spewing into Peter's mouth like hot lava from a volcano. The taller surgeon lapped up everything he had to offer, swallowing every last drop before rising from his spot, kissing Romano passionately.

The bald man kissed him back with equal enthusiasm, tasting his own spent on the man, receiving a strange sense of guilty pleasure from it.

"_Bastard." _Romano stated simply as soon as their lips had parted. Their eyes met in an intense gaze before their lips locked again, tongues matching hands in their eager movements, exploring one another, _starving _for each other.

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't love it," Peter said huskily once they'd broken up again. "Granted, Anspaugh wasn't not part of the plan in _any _given way."

"Rat _bastard_. You could've gotten us both fired and blackballed, you know." Romano said with narrowed eyes, half serious, but mostly wanting Peter to do it all over again...preferably without _Anspaugh's Intervention_, of course.

"But I _didn't, _now did I, Dr. Romano," Peter retorted, marveling at how the tables had turned. This time it was _Robert _who was worrying his pretty little head about being found out. "And that migraine thing was one hell of a save. Which reminds me..." he trailed off, toying with Romano's tie, which was printed with little wild birds on it.

"Just give me some time to pack up my shit and we can _continue _this little discussion elsewhere. Preferably behind a lock and key." The man said, pulling his slacks back on from where they lay at his ankles. Before he could even tighten his belt all the way, Peter already planted his lips back on him again.

Only when they were about a few seconds from losing brain cells from a lack of oxygen did they pull back away from each other, their breathing picking right back up from where it left off.

"I hope your prepared, _Dr. Romano_," Benton rasped into the shorter man's ear, his hot breath causing him to shiver.

"I'm going to make this discussion a rather memorable one."

Happy Tuesday Everybody :)


	12. AfternoonLovin’

Our chapter today takes place in the same afternoon it left off. Though now, it was around 3 in the afternoon.

The sun was blazin' hotter than Jesus Christ himself in a hot tub.

The smooth jazz in Peter's humble Chicago abode played softly, its elegant instrumentals setting the mood perfectly.

And our beloved Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery of Cook County Hospital, Robert Romano, was currently in bed.

Well, to be more precise, _Peter's _bed.

And, if we're talking about complete and total accuracy as to how this particular scene is portrayed, our _other_ hero of the story, Peter Benton, was currently kneeling _behind_ Romano, mirroring his position on the bed, as he worked free every one of Romano's shirt buttons in turn. Romano's slacks from the day had been haphazardly tossed on the floor, his favored black loafers and socks lay forgotten with them in a pile.

Peter, however, was disrobed completely, the heat from his bare skin radiating against Romano's back, warming him. Romano's boxers felt tight at the feeling, wanting Peter to throw his smoothness and deliberation out the window, allowing their naked bodies to entwine as one, skin colliding deliciously with each bump of their hips.

He'd bring his hands round to the man's partially bare chest, which trembled with each shaky breath he took, just _dying _for him to quit moving so slowly and gently with him. Every one of Robert's emotions in that moment demanded that the man behind his kneeling form would just drop the slow yet satisfying routine and ravage him, leaving him bare and perspiring, his whole body _aching _for more.

Peter was busy tasting the small of Robert's back, just below his neck, trailing upward to the nape of his neck. Robert gasped softly as the man's lips caressed every bit of freckled skin they could reach. His fingers pried with cruel dexterity at another one of his buttons, the one that sat just below his sternum. The soft fabric parted with Peter's success, leaving more of the quivering man's skin exposed. Goosebumps littered his chest as Peter grazed it with his long, slender digits. He was barely touching him, but it was just enough to make him gasp, his eyes closing at the sudden rush of ecstasy it caused.

"Shhh...just relax. Let me take care of you..." Peter whispered, his mouth against his nape, the soft, silky hair there brushing his lips.

"I _need_ you, Peter..." he implored, skin prickling at his delicate touch. "_I need you inside of me_."

Peter chuckled airily against the back of his neck, Romano's back straightening abruptly at the air, _his_ air hitting his skin.

"I know you do, Robert," Benton purred, beginning to work on another button. "Just calm down, I'll give it to you."

"But first, I'm going to feel my way over every inch of you..." he assured him, his voice taking on a quality not unlike soft butter. His hands pulled the button free, stripping the man further. '_Just two more of the damn things to go..._'

"I'm going to unwrap you slowly," his fingertips brushed over his chest, stroking gently. "Kiss you all over," nimble digits pried open another button, allowing it to fall open with ease. "And then fill you all the way up..."

"_God yes_," Romano sighed breathily, a shiver creeping up his spine.

"With all due respect, _Dr. Romano_..." Benton threw open the last button, the fabric now hanging open loosely on each side, flowing slightly as he gently raked his nails in imperfect patterns, moving them from his bare stomach, stopping just before his rib cage.

"_I'm going to fuck your tight hole until you can barely breathe._"

Peter's hand flew to Romano's chin as he leaned closer to him, kissing him then from behind. Romano could feel the intensity of his kiss from his prickling scalp, to his racing heart, all the way down to his toes. He was thoroughly convinced that no one could ever touch him like this, no one could ever make him _feel_ like this.

Their tongues slid against each other as Peter brought both hands down to the waistband of Romano's boxers, beginning to pull them down. Romano's throbbing erection was already dripping from his arousal, now free from its confinement.

Peter brought his hand up to Romano's hardness, his fingers gently grazing the tip, his wetness coating his fingertips. He rubbed it in a circular motion, his touch so light that Romano just wanted to scream. He squirmed, only to be stilled by a tight arm encompassing him.

"Come on Dr. Romano, _be good_," Benton whispered, breaking the kiss as he spoke into his ear.

Benton nipped at his outer ear, caressing the soft skin with his teeth as he brought his hand up, his first two fingers glistening from Romano's wetness. He stopped them at the man's mouth, close to his red, kiss swollen lips.

"Go ahead. _Taste yourself_..." Peter rasped, his breath hot and damp against his ear.

Romano obeyed without a second thought, drawing Peter's dripping fingers past his lips, tasting his own salty spent. He suckled gently on the man's fingers, pulling at them with his mouth, eliciting a satisfied groan from him.

"_Fuck_. Yes, just like that..." Peter rumbled against the back of his ear. He brought his other hand down to Romano's hot, thick length, pumping it slowly, rewarding him for his obedience.

Romano moaned loudly, his stomach clenching deliciously from the sensation. He could feel Peter's large, swollen member pressing against his bare backside, slick with his own spent dripping from its head. He desperately wanted Peter to pierce him then, for him to pound into him heedlessly and without preparation. He wanted to feel the exquisite pain as he stretched him, making him take every inch of his rampant member at once until he started to moan and yell in his own primal approval. He wanted nothing more than to leave the man satisfied, run ragged from his exertions with damp sheets and scratches down his back.

Romano moaned his name softly around the fingers in his mouth as Benton continued, kissing his neck as his mouth sought for that sensitive spot on the side of his neck. The sound of skin grazing skin filled Romano's ears as Benton's hand moved rhythmically up and down his wettened length, mixing with the magnificent instrumentals of Kenny G, which droned on in the background throughout their amorous activities. It was almost too much to bear.

"That's right, baby. _Say my name_..." Benton purred, his thumb coming down hard on the tip of Romano's member. The shorter man cried out from the sudden contact with one of his most sensitive parts, only making Benton's already impressive length swell even larger.

He took both hands away then, drawing a displeased whine from Romano. Peter pulled his unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, tossing it off the side off his bed. He then grabbed Romano by his waist, flipping him over so that he lay flat against his bed on his back. He pulled his boxers from where they'd been left around his thighs, throwing them to the floor. They were both completely bare now, hot, perspiring bodies just minutes away from becoming one.

Peter settled himself between Romano's feet, trailing kisses at a painstakingly slow pace up his body. He went from the top of his foot, to his ankle, then to his calf, driving the shorter man insane from his onslaught. He pressed hot, wet kisses against hypersensitive skin, drawing desperate, breathy little moans from Romano with each and every one. He wanted his mouth somewhere else, somewhere a lot higher and more sensitive than where it was now.

"God, just _take me_..." he groused, squirming against the man between his legs. His engorged prick leaned towards his stomach, left tragically neglected by the taller man. "Take me right now, Peter. _Please_..."

Peter was nuzzling the inside of his thigh now, tasting the silky skin there. "I will soon, love. Just wait..." he murmured against him. He nipped at him, tugging on his pale, freckled skin with his teeth. Romano gasped, almost pushed over the edge from that minuscule action alone.

He then brought himself higher, to the delicate pouch that hung just beneath his bulging length, sucking on both of his bullocks in turn, causing the man to squirm even more. He then took them both in his mouth, his tongue caressing them lustfully, savoring his musky scent there. It'd been the one place on his boss, both literally and figuratively, he'd never imagine himself kissing in a million years.

And even crazier; he enjoyed it.

_so much..._

He finally reached the underside of his swollen member, pressing his lips against it softly. Romano writhed, every one of his nerves responding to Peter's soft kisses.

"You've been a very good boy, _Dr. Romano," _Peter mumbled against his hardness, the vibrations against his member making his toes curl. He gripped Peter's sheets in both fists, knuckles white from the amount of force he put into the action. "I suppose you're deserving of a little treat..."

The taller man pulled away briefly, his hand seeking out the little bottle of Astroglide he kept on his nightstand. He kneeled, covering his fingers with the slippery fluid.

He then pushed two fingers into his entrance, thrusting them in and out, picking up speed as he continued. After another moment, he brought his mouth down to his neglected hardness, his tongue lapping away the slick, tangy spent from his throbbing, almost painful head.

Peter assaulted his prostate with his fingertips for the second time that day, causing Romano's legs to twitch delightfully each time they made contact with the pulsating bundle of nerves. He added another slick finger, pushing the bald man to his limits.

"_Peter_," Robert whimpered desperately, his body demanding more from Peter than it'd been offered. "I want your cock..." he whined needily, spreading his legs for the man. Peter withdrew his fingers, retrieving that magic little bottle once again.

Benton slicked up his length then, lining himself up against Robert's entrance. The entirety of his head just _barely_ slipped into him as he remained almost completely taut, hovering over the man. He kissed him tenderly on his parted lips, teasing him, pushing him as far as he could go.

"Now, Peter! I need you!" Romano cried out, loosing his cool completely. His breathing had picked up significantly, almost hyperventilating against the man. His skin was hot, almost as if he'd developed a fever from the taller man's continuous touch by itself. Peter was intoxicating him with each passing second, making him feel drunk or high or _something_, despite having consumed nothing, nothing at all...

"Fuck me, Peter! Now!" Romano's nails dug into his toned flesh, his muscles hard from their contraction as he kept himself, despite every one of his instincts from pushing all the way inside the man, holding back nothing, taking no prisoners.

"Oh, my chief, I know you can be more polite to your subordinate than _that_..." Benton chastised, kissing one of his flaming red cheeks, the heat coming off of it practically able to _burn _him.

Romano wrapped his legs tight around Benton's waist, trying with no success to draw him deeper. The taller man pulled his lubricated head out, leaving it to gently rest against his entrance as he twitched there in anticipation. Romano whimpered at the loss of contact, nails dragging against his flesh, long, reddened lines of skin appearing where they scraped there.

"Go ahead, ask nicely, and you'll get it," Peter murmured sweetly in his ear, his voice in that delicious, low tone that Romano _loved_.

"P-please...Peter...please just—"

Romano failed to finish his plea when Peter slammed into him. Hard. Tip to base in one single thrust of his hips.

A strangled cry sounded from the shorter man as he clung tighter to Peter, letting him take him in his entirety.

Benton continued to pound into him again and again and again and again, using every ounce of brute strength he had in him to please Romano to his core and then some.

After the only the 4th or 5th stroke, Romano came hard, harder than he ever had in his life. He felt like he could die. The pleasure was so intense it almost hurt. Black spots clouded his vision as Peter continued without faltering, thrusts only getting faster and sharper, his hips falling against him at just the right angle as he moved, hitting his prostate just so. Every stroke against the sensitive gland felt like a hit of some sort of drug, shaking him to his soul.

He could feel this man everywhere in him. His spine. His stomach. His weak knees and shaking legs that held Peter to him in a death grip. He could've sworn he could hear his heart pounding in his ears mimicking the rhythm of Peter's bucking hips.

Romano's muscles tightened around the man as Peter rocked him closer again.

He repeated his name once, twice, so many times in a row that he lost count, like he'd die if he stopped doing so. His repetition of the two syllables became garbled as he got close, _oh so close_, his moans coming out in sobs as he neared his release.

"Go ahead. _Come again for me, Robert_. You've earned it." And he nearly did at the sound of his voice.

Another strangled cry sounded from the bald man as he came, the fierce intensity of that particular orgasm causing his vision to blacken much more, his body vibrating against Benton.

"God. You're so beautiful, Robert..." He rasped, almost to the point of oblivion himself. Benton's old Kenny G record had long since ran out, leaving the needle of the turntable dragging against soundless vinyl. The only sound in the room was the sound of their labored breathing, the soft mewls coming from Romano's open mouth, and their sweat drenched skin colliding as their hips bumped.

Benton paused briefly to pull one of Romano's arms from around his back, holding his hand, lacing their fingers together. His thrusts became even faster and more frantic as he neared his own climax, bringing Romano with him yet again.

Peter shouted as he erupted into Romano, spilling himself into him entirely. Their cries mixed, creating a melody that could wake the dead.

Romano's back arched from his own dry orgasm as Peter collapsed against him, leaving the two close against each other, practically convulsing from their actions, covered in each other's thick white spent.

After a few moments Benton mustered up the strength to pull out of the man, his spent leaking out of him as he moved to lay at his side.

Their fingers were still entwined, joined hands wedged between their flushed, exhausted bodies.

"Stay with me." Romano finally said when he caught his breath, his voice hoarse from his cries of passion. "Please..." his voice took on the same plea it'd had that early Sunday morning they'd recently spent together, the same kind that could practically convince Peter to kill the president if he'd just asked.

"Don't worry." Peter assured him, gazing at him with glimmering eyes, his features soft from the warm afterglow of their _discussion_. The grip on Romano's hand tightened.

"You won't be getting rid of me for a long time."

And it was told that the _all mighty and all powerful Robert 'Rocket' Romano_'s heart grew three sizes that day.

All because of Peter Benton.

And their heated, boss-to-subordinate discussions.


	13. GoodFuckingMorning3:ISuckedOffaTree

**Not sure where y'all live, but right now I'm on day 19 of self quarantine. Every day I wake up hoping that this'll all have been some horrible nightmare I had as a result of too much gin and tonic but I'm always disappointed. **

**Anyway, give it up for chapter 13!**

It was yet another lovely Wednesday morning in the Windy City, around the crack of dawn.

The sun was rising.

The birds were just waking up from a night of...WHATEVER THE HELL BIRDS DO AT NIGHT.

And our beloved Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery, Robert Romano, was slowly awakening, instantly aware of the large form that held him tightly in its arms, making him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He tried to move even closer to the man, craving the heat coming off him within the relatively cool bedroom.

Robert rest his head against the man's chest, taking part in the time-honored action of listening to his heart beating in that broad, solid chest of his. He pulled his hand up then, stroking Peter's chest lightly as to not wake him up. He continued to do so absentmindedly, recounting the events of the previous night in his head.

After their little discussion...and another round of heated _discussion_ AFTER that particular discussion, plus a hit to the shower, the two had agreed to spend the night together. Our favorite surgical attending, Peter Benton, had even arranged for yet _another _candle lit dinner for the two.

Well, the 'candle lit dinner' in question had actually turned out to be a large meatlover's pizza and one of Peter's vintage bottles of Merlot served over his kitchen table. Despite the low budget, or rather both men's unwillingness to get fully dressed and venture somewhere nice, Romano honestly couldn't care less whether they were dining on raw oysters and Filet Mignon or a grimy cup of noodles they'd scooped out of the dumpster behind a strip club. It was the company that counted.

_Especially_ when that company would often stare him down in between bites of pizza and light talk about the day to day detritus of their hectic lives. And as you probably already know, it wasn't the kind of stare you'd give your annoying coworker Karen when she brought her pungent egg salad sandwiches into work on Mondays, consequently making them worse.

Oh no. It was the '_I'd rather be eating you than this cheap slice of American staple every day of the fucking week_' type of stare.

And eventually, his stares had become so fervent, so damn _distracting_ that they'd resorted to quitting that menial process of chatting and eating entirely, their dark eyes making contact over that half-finished pizza, both knowing exactly what the other was craving, yet not having to say a word on the subject.

Needless to say, neither of the two finished that pizza, and it was left to cool, forgotten on the table as Romano allowed himself to be pushed into Peter's nice warm bed, letting the man love him all over again.

The bald man felt something stir in him at the memory. Something in his chest. He felt himself falling for the man, falling farther than he ever thought he would, or _could_ fall for him. As much as he wanted to distance himself from Peter, he just couldn't help the feelings that just kept on getting stronger for him.

He noticed it the most whenever they _had a discussion_. At least, that's what they still called it, although they knew damn well what they were doing wasn't some cold, professional, no-strings-attached meeting between a boss and his employee. Some may argue that if they actually _did_ call it what it was outside the heat of the moment, it would make it too much on them. It'd make it too _real_ for the two of them to bear.

But, despite this walking on eggshells, the fact was simple;

Whenever they made love, Robert felt like he had died and went to heaven.

And, as much as he'd been trying to deny it, he was beginning to feel as if he could spend the rest of his damn life making love with this man. Hell, he wasn't sure after this long that he could stand to settle for anything else, anything _less_.

They'd repeated that 3 letter phrase twice now. It's a big testament for any relationship, let alone one that fell more on the more casual side of things. At times, Robert had questioned whether the man beside him had ever meant it in the first place.

But any time he took a look at that dark-eyed, handsome face of his, whether they were behind closed doors, giving each other every bit of their time and energy or under the glow of an OR light, working on some poor schmuck who'd needed a laparotomy or something, exchanging quick glances at each other. Anyone on the outside wouldn't suspect a thing outside of the ordinary. But Robert could see it in his eyes. Peter wasn't lying, he _couldn't _be lying. Especially after the weekend they'd spent together.

And even after all the time they've spent together, all of their graceless acts of passion, the countless times in the hospital they'd shared meals together, the enjoyment the both of them got from talking to each other, the cold Autumn nights they'd spent in each other's arms, falling asleep to the sound of each other's slow, even breaths as they settled in together—he _still_ couldn't help but feel scared.

He loved Peter. He was _in_ love with Peter. Yet he couldn't help but recognize his infamous shortcomings when it came to people in general, never mind past lovers. And, he couldn't help but wonder when those shortcomings would manifest themselves into their relationship and leave him alone and heart broken, before he'd even have time to fully register what he'd done wrong.

His stomach churned at the idea of driving Peter away. Earlier on, yeah, it wouldn't be so devastating. But _now_...the very thought was enough to make Romano's heart sink.

"Quit thinking," a familiar voice tore Robert from his quickly escalating session of worry and overthinking. He swore that Peter could read his mind sometimes. It was kind of unsettling.

"It's too damn early to think. Go back to sleep." He kissed his head sluggishly, his eyes still shut against the soft light from the rising sun. The taller man pulled him closer, burying his head into his shoulder as he curled up to him.

"I can't sleep. I'm kept up by some rather invasive thoughts of this tall hot guy who took me to bed with him last night..." Romano joked, his insecurities melting away as an idea sprung to his head. He moved his hands around to his back, rubbing it in little circles.

"Oh really?" Benton deadpanned, his words muffled against Romano's shoulder. "Well something tells me this tall hot guy you have in mind probably wants another hour or two of sleep before he has to get to work."

"Well_ I _for one think that my guy shouldn't be such a wet blanket." Robert continued humoring the sleepy surgeon, his hands moving lower on his back. "After all, he _had _been the one to solicit me into taking part in sexual relations in the workplace when I'd made it _very clear _that I had work to do..."

"Robert, not at this ungodly hour," Benton growled sternly, as Romano's hands had found their way to his ass, caressing the firm muscle there. "Aren't you sore?"

"I bounce back fast," Romano purred into his ear, not giving up. "Come on, _Petey_. It's not like you to evade one of our little _discussions_ like this..."

Peter rolled away from him then, attempting to ignore his antics. "Wake me up in an hour, _Robbie_. We can talk when I can at least see my damn hand in front of my face."

Romano scooted closer to him, not having any of it. He wrapped his arms back around the grumpy surgeon, his hands wandering down his abdomen. He kissed and nipped at the sleek skin on Peter's neck, inviting him.

"_Robert_..." Benton whined, his resistance wearing thin as Romano sucked and licked at one of his favorite spots on his neck, working on leaving behind a little bruise there.

"C'mon, Petey. _You know you want to..._" Romano murmured into his ear. His hands ventured lower on Peter's body, groping between his thighs.

"Robert..." he whined again, rolling on to his back to look at him. Robert took this opportunity to climb on top of Peter, straddling his hips as he did. The taller man quit complaining after that, drinking in the sight of Romano's naked form set before him, his large member standing up, already wanting more of him.

"Just lie back and relax, love. I'll do all the work..." Romano said, his voice a silky, alluring tone. He reached off to one side, his hand seeking out the bottle of lubricant that was still on Peter's nightstand. They were both wide awake now, aching for each other yet again.

Romano plunged his slick fingers into his own entrance, moaning as he pushed them into just the right spot. He drew them in and out slowly as Peter watched him, hardening at the sight of the man preparing himself.

"My, my. Dr. Romano," Peter drawled, licking his lips as he gazed at Romano as he gave another hit to his own prostate, eyes slamming shut for a brief moment as the sensation threatened to overcome him. "How will I ever be able to say no to you?"

Romano groaned loudly as he added another slick finger, stretching himself for Peter's now completely swollen prick. The sound only made the taller surgeon grow larger. "Well I suppose I could say the same for you as well, _Dr. Benton_."

Benton stroked his own member as he observed the man pumping his digits in and out of himself until he just couldn't bear to watch any longer. He grasped at the hand connected to those digits, pulling it away. He snatched the bottle from where Romano had tossed it off to the side, opening it and dispensing a dollop into the man's already slick hand.

Romano stroked Peter's length, covering it in the slick, glistening fluid before moving himself higher up Peter's bare form. He aligned himself with the other man perfectly before lowering himself, slowly piercing himself with his turgid member.

They both moaned softly, adjusting to the all too familiar feeling of their disrobed bodies being connected as one. They seemed to fit perfectly together, both as a couple and physically, whenever they made love. Romano began to move his hips against Peter's, rocking them at a slow, almost gentle pace, drawing an agonizing sense of pleasure from the both of them.

"God, you look so beautiful right now..." Peter rasped, his hips moving at the same pace as his eyes raked over the man on top of him. His face was flushed and his eyes full of luster, mixed with a sort of carnal desire despite how slow they were going. The taller man beneath him seemed able to do more to Romano with only his voice than most people could do with their hands.

Romano moaned loudly as Peter found the perfect angle, hitting his prostate head on with each movement of his pelvis. He began to move his hips harder and faster against the man, making frenzied attempts for purchase against that oh so responsive bundle of nerves inside of him.

Benton seemed to have picked up on his desperate need for friction as he gazed at the man's now shaking, perspiring form. He put both hands on Romano's hips, pulling him hard against him as he ground into him further, causing the man to cry out as his member pushed far deeper inside of him, hitting that sensitive spot as it went.

He couldn't help how much he loved seeing his boss like this; trembling against his naked body, his usual invulnerability and hard, professional attitude stripped away along with his clothes. The way he went from being completely in control of himself and often times in control of Peter, to being reduced to pleas and cries for mercy as he begged for his own release. He felt something stir in him at the thought that he could get the man so comfortable around him, allowing him to relinquish that control whenever they were alone together.

In that man's eyes, Robert Romano was a two-sided coin. Of course, there was the side of him he showed to everyone. Cold, mean spirited, snarky, uncaring of almost anybody but himself. Anyone giving him a quick glance would brush him off as some short-tempered, opportunistic asshole without a heart. Unless, of course, it came to his own concern. He'd always seemed to gain some sort of sadistic pleasure out of others' misfortune and despair, yet he'd never dared to show anyone any other side of him.

And, as of almost a month ago, Peter had stopped falling under that category of just _anyone_.

Ever since he'd fucked Robert in that office, things between them had changed. Even the day after, Robert had stopped showing him the same face he'd show everyone in that damned hospital. The look in his eyes changed whenever Peter would even enter the room, his whole mood shifting. He'd go from making his usual sarcastic remarks, giving everyone else in the room his usual snide comments to almost becoming timid, giving Peter those looks when he thought he wasn't looking, an expression on his face that seemed reserved _just_ for him to gaze upon.

After that point, it'd been like he was looking at Romano with a new pair of eyes. He quit seeing him as that stubborn, cold hearted jackass and saw him for what he really was. A decent man, who at times, especially when it came to Peter, could even manage to be kind. Sweet, even.

It'd always be the small things he only did around Peter; giving him that bright, dimpled smile, holding the door for him, listening patiently to whatever Peter had to say about yet another shift in the Cook County Cesspool—all of those little things that helped him see his seemingly callous, cruel boss in a new light.

And he'd never been able to fully register the emotion that crossed the bald man's face whenever he'd look at him. That _was_ until recently. Until they said that phrase—when _Robert _had been the first to say that big, three lettered phrase. Those three words made it all make sense.

_Love_. That's what had been in the man's eyes whenever he'd given Peter a passing glance. Even from the very beginning, it'd been there to some degree. Maybe it'd started as some form of admiration or favoritism of him above his other colleagues, but it'd eventually morphed into _love_, he knew that much.

And love was what continued to show in his eyes as Peter continued to thrust into him, working every little bit of pleasure from him that he could. He gazed up at him, mouth parted slightly as he panted, moans gradually becoming louder and higher in pitch, falling from his lips with every jolt against his body.

"_Peter!_" He never tired of hearing that name come out of his mouth. "Oh god, right there!" Romano cried, his hips moving harder against him. He was getting close, Peter could tell. He held the man tighter against him, restraining his movements, wanting to watch him for longer.

Romano wriggled against his strong hands, desperately trying with little success to regain friction against the man.

"_Peter_," he whined, his control over this particular _discussion_ fading fast, his chest heaving with his heavy, uneven breaths. "Come on, don't do this to me! I'm almost there!"

"Why're you in such a hurry, _Dr. Romano_?" Peter slowed himself down, putting measured thrusts into the man. Robert whimpered as his member slid against his prostate at an excruciating pace, keeping him on the edge but not letting allowing him the sweet release he craved. "You're the one that pushed for this little _discussion_. Why don't we make it last?"

"P-Peter, I swear...if you don't speed up in the next 5 God damn seconds you're fired." He warned weakly, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. Peter reached his hand up to Romano's aching member, dragging his thumb across the tip, making the man yell.

"What, and give up all of _this_?" Benton purred, grinning at him. He continued rubbing the tip of his length, his member still pressed hard against his throbbing gland. "_What's the magic word, Dr. Romano?_"

"Please..._please_, Peter! Please let me come!" Romano shouted, his hands holding on tightly to Peter's wrists, his knuckles whitening from his tight grip.

Peter relented almost immediately, placing both hands back on Robert's hips, thrusting hard into him, not holding back.

Romano's begging was broken down into nearly incoherent proclamations of his reaching oblivion, his mouth just barely managing to work around Peter's name. The other man jolted harder and harder until Romano cried out, erupting his hot, sticky spent all over himself. Peter followed suit, his hands seeking out his ass, nails digging into the tense muscle there.

Romano pulled himself off of the man after a moment, his hot spent oozing out of his entrance. He lay beside Peter, wrapping an arm around him, trembling still from their intense lovemaking.

"_Now_ will you let me sleep?" Peter snarked after a quiet moment, looking into the man's beautiful dark eyes. Robert chuckled, cleaning himself off briefly from their _discussion_ with the sheet that covered them.

"I suppose you've earned the right to sleep in, _Dr. Benton_..." He snarked back, curling closer to Peter, heat still radiating from him like the rays of sun that now flowed through the window at the far wall of the room. Peter just pulled him closer, kissing his head.

"If you decide you want more and go wakin' me up, I swear to God, Robert," Benton warned, his usual bitchy tone returning. "The next time I do that thing with my mouth you like,_ I'm using my teeth_."

"You wouldn't dare, Petey!" Romano said sweetly, wrapping both arms around the man's chest, finally feeling tired again. He rest his head against him, the thumping of his heart serving as his own personal lullaby. "You wouldn't do that to your _boss_. Especially with you paycheck on the line..."

"Who says I give a shit about my paycheck where you're concerned?" Peter grumbled at Romano, bringing a hand up to stroke the soft hair on the side of his fat head. "Shut up and sleep. You need your rest."

They were both quiet for a while, slowly dozing off against each other.

And it wasn't until Romano was almost completely asleep that Peter said something, his tone so quiet, the man had just barely heard him.

"I love you, Robert..." he whispered in Romano's ear, kissing the top of his head again. "_So much_."

"I love you, too." Robert mumbled, his lips against Peter's chest. He suddenly felt an almost overwhelming amount of emotion flow through him. '_Oh my God he said it first_.'

He squeezed the man tighter to him, nuzzling his chest, getting as close as he could to him.

"You're everything to me." Robert admitted, half expecting Peter to just laugh at him, or throw him out right then and there, for his earlier proclamation of love just being made so he could keep him as a fuck buddy, so he could keep using him just to throw him away like trash.

But instead, Peter rest a hand on his chin, gently pulling his face up to meet his own. Their lips met in a soft, loving kiss. When they pulled away, he brought his head closer, pressing their foreheads together.

"You're everything to me too, Robert..." he murmured, exhaustion getting the best of him on top of the warm, fuzzy feeling he was feeling in his chest. "Now get some rest...I've got _plans_ for you later."

_To be continued..._


	14. BloodstainedScrubsandBleedingHearts

**Now this one ain't a hot, steamy chapter like the last couple. This one's a little more angsty and full of plotty stuff, so if you're just here for ol' Robbie and Pete gettin' it on, you should probably wait or skip ahead, depending on when you're reading this. **

**Takes place during 7x06; The Visit**

It was a rather traumatic Thursday in the city of Chicago, Illinois. In fact, it had been the first time our two heroes had been thrown through some _real_ serious shit from TBTB in this story.

It was gloomier outside than most emo kids' Tumblr pages.

The birds had shut up for once.

Gunshots rang out from downtown Chicago not a couple hours beforehand, a typical occurrence for the Windy City, no matter who was behind the trigger.

And our beloved surgical hero, Robert Romano, had just spent the last 45 minutes or so looking everywhere for our other beloved surgical hero, Peter Benton.

And when this mentally exhausted, slightly _deranged_ narrator says everywhere, she MEANS everywhere. Every trauma room. Exam rooms 1-4, four times over, in fact. All the OR's, storage rooms, medicine closets in the hospital. Hell, he even barged into Dr. Anspaugh's office to look for the guy, giving him a taste of his own damn medicine. But the only thing he'd achieved there had been waking the elder surgeon up from his afternoon nap and pissing him off to no end.

Romano checked the parking garage. Then the rooftop. Then the street _below_ the rooftop to make sure he hadn't gone and jumped off of it. To his relief, he failed to find the bloodied remains of his guy smeared against the sidewalk, outside of Cook Fucking County of all places.

A few more stairwells and a couple of depressingly empty lounges later, Romano decided to call off his one man search party, ready to drop dead from his frantic hunt for the tall, bitchy surgeon. He felt like his feet had been chewed on by a one eyed whore, and not to mention his _head_. So, he snagged himself a quick drink from the bubbler, and did the only thing he could think of.

The bald surgeon strode in the direction of his office on the surgical floor, with every intention of collapsing in one of his big overstuffed chairs and paging Benton another 45 times, at least hoping for a reply that disproved his suspicions that either; A. In his grief stricken state he'd gotten his ass in trouble with God knows who, especially considering that big mouth of his, B. He's abandoned his habit of drinking on occasion and was currently pickling his own liver inside inside of some grungy pub on the bad side of town. And he STILL would have come out maimed and bruised on account of his big fat mouth.

And of course, there was, what in Romano's opinion, the worst scenario, in which Peter was alone, grieving the loss of his nephew in some dark corner, his only condolence being the hollow apologies and unbearable pity from anybody who'd heard.

All he wanted to do for the man was drag him out of that hellhole with him for the day, maybe more, and try and make him forget. At least for a little while. He got lost in his musings as he trudged up the stairs, eyes still searching for his lover desperately.

The fact was simple; he couldn't bring Peter's nephew back. He couldn't bring anyone back. And he sure as hell couldn't solve the city's gang violence crisis. He wasn't Jesus, after all.

All he wanted in that moment was to just be there for him. To help him feel less like he'd just taken a railroad spike to the chest, to patch the hole in his heart, or at least try.

He'd never felt like that towards Peter before. Before they got together, every little favor the man had asked of him, he'd brush off, and eventually bury the man in scut work for having the _audacity _to ask him for said favor. He never gave him any leeway when he was dealing with the critical phases of fatherhood, or his career. For God's sake, he'd even tried to keep the man from spending Christmas with his son not two years prior. And he would've gotten away with it, had that fat guy not busted a staple from his gastric bypass, tearing his drunk ass away from the Surgeon's Gala only to almost deck the tall surgeon with whom he was now _involved_.

He failed miserably, of course, after he fell over, his fat head hitting the cold OR floor.

He chuckled slightly at the memory, thankful that the stairwell was empty so he didn't have some smart ass begging him to share what had managed to amuse the _dispassionate and cold blooded Rocket Romano_. Who the _hell_ would've believed the two would have a hot date in some fancy Italian restaurant almost two years later?! The thought was almost surreal.

And to think he'd been so pissed at Peter because of Dr. Corday. Dr. Lizzie _Fucking _Corday, who didn't even swing for the same team, he found out all too late! While he'd been stood up, drinking himself sick off scotch whilst listening to a Dr. What'shisface from gynecology drone on and _on _about all the wretched diseases, cysts, and assorted unholiness he'd treated in his "_22 years of service to the hospital_" and how they'd _still _refused to name one of the hospital wings after him. Or even a damn _bubbler_, for that matter.

And he'd come in, drunker than Paris Hilton in her rich uncle's wine cellar, and tried pathetically to punch the hell out of his SUPPOSED rival, and FUTURE lover, then almost got his ass reported to Anspaugh (and to be fair, the Medical Board) all for what? To discover that the "scutwork" he'd suspected Peter to have sent _his dear Lizzie _off to do in order to keep her out of his desperately reaching grasp had in fact not been scutwork at all. It'd been Susan _Fucking _Lewis!

And now? He'd have felt bad if he actually _succeeded _in keeping Peter from spending the holiday with the little munchkin. Especially after seeing how much he _loved_ the damn kid. The two were inseparable, which was surprising, all facts considered. If Romano had a reputation for _eating_ small children, then Peter would be the one picking at the leftovers!

His amusement had faded with a new thought that sprang to his head.

Peter hadn't told him all that much about his nephew. But Romano knew that he was still a kid; not one of those annoying nephews that come to mind, the ones who're 23, still living in their mother's houses, doing nothing but smoking pot and skipping all their classes. And a good kid too. He'd just happened to be associated with the wrong people in the wrong place at the wrong time. And what was the consequence of that? A GSW to the chest, that's what!

As he walked towards the outer door to his office, Romano concluded that God, if there even was one, had a pretty sick, twisted sense of humor, and was probably laughing his ass off up there with a bunch of his angels. And as soon as he died, he was going to kick that nutmeat straight in the balls, and slash the tiny wings off his precious little angels with a scalpel. All for his Petey, of course.

"Anyone report any sightings of Dr. Benton? God forbid he grace us with his presence this fine afternoon." Romano snarked to his assistant at the desk outside his office. Despite it all, he knew he still had to keep suspicions as low as ever.

"I'm sorry Dr. Romano, but no one's seen him." Brenda informed the man, bringing a frown to his face. "But Dr. Anspaugh was looking for you. He wanted to know why you would barge into his office in such a _discourteous, disparaging manner_. In his words, of course."

"And if I were you, I wouldn't be so hard on him. He just lost his nephew, you know." She finished before he could retreat straight into his office. He turned around quick, fixing her with an annoyed look.

"He can get his love at home." The man retorted coldly, earning a glare from his assistant.

He stumbled into his dark office, illuminated slightly by the fading daylight from outside.

His breath caught in his throat with one quick glance around the room.

Wordlessly, he shut his office door, locking it behind him.

Romano took a cautious step toward the other surgeon, whose figure was illuminated around its perimeter by the light glowing from his office window. His back was turned to the shorter surgeon, those robust shoulders slumped slightly.

He made no indication of acknowledging Robert's sudden entrance.

"I've been looking all over for you." He said quietly.

"Yeah. Well, you found me." Peter replied just as quietly, his voice seeming far away. Robert stepped further into his own office, the distance between the two finally diminishing.

"I just heard. I'm so sorry, Peter." The man said earnestly. Peter scoffed humorlessly.

"The hell you are. You didn't even know him. Don't give me that shit." He replied darkly, his voice reaching a new tone that Romano had never heard on him before. It sent a chill down his spine. He almost sounded like a different man lacking his usual airy demeanor.

"You're right, Peter. I didn't know him." Romano said, still taken aback from his curtness. "But I know how awful it's got to be, losing someone so young."

"You don't know the half of it." Benton said sharply, his tone failing to change.

Despite the sense of dread he'd developed deep in his gut from the man's uncharacteristic dejection, Robert stepped closer to the man. He stopped just behind him and the window, taking the opportunity to observe his appearance.

Those royal blue scrubs of his that Robert loved seeing him in were now a grisly sight to be seen; bloodstains all over his scrub top, even some on the side of his scrub pants. He knew exactly whose it was without a second thought. His eyes flicked up to Peter's reflection in the window panes, his eyes dull and brooding, his expression one of despair. He had a telltale bruise under one of his eyes from his scuffle with that loathsome little weasel Dave Malucci. Robert added him to his mental Shit List alongside God and his angels before piping back up.

"No, I don't. And truth be told, I probably never will. I just..." Romano trailed off for a moment, unsure of how to proceed, trying his best not to upset the man further. '_God, what a lovely time to suck with people!_'

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He finished, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. It was immediately shrugged off.

"_Don't touch me_." His tone was like ice. It felt like a 10-blade had hit Romano straight in his windpipe, hearing him talk like that. Hearing _Peter_ talk like that to _him_. He knew he was only being so cold because he'd just about as shitty of a day as shitty days can get, and that those lips had uttered far worse things to him before they'd become partners, but it still hurt.

"Come on Peter. We should get out of here." He tried again, putting his hand back in its place on the man's shoulder. "We can grab something to eat. You don't have to be alone tonight—"

"I said don't touch me, _you fucking prick_!" Peter roared, whirling around to look at the man with fire in his eyes. Romano withdrew his hand as if he'd been badly burned, taking a quick step away from him.

"I don't need to drown my sorrows in some quick fuck with you! When I wake up in the morning he's still going to be dead, and you can't fix that!" He shouted at the man, who stared at him with wide eyes. "Get the fuck out of my face, Robert. I can't do this. **Not tonight**."

"Oh come on, Peter! That's not all we are and you know it!" Romano yelled back, allowing his temper to get the best of him. Despite Peter's continuous rebuking of the action, he reached out, holding one of the man's hands in both of his own.

"I love you, damn it!" Peter's gaze was fixed at their linked hands as the man continued, expression unreadable. Romano half expected the man to deck him, right between the eyes, a cruel allusion to his previous musings.

"I love you, and I'm not just going to let you go through this alone. And whether you like it or not, I'm not just some fuckbuddy of yours that'll only give you the time of day when he's got blue balls. I don't care how pissed you are at me, or God, or that gang, or hell maybe even the kid himself, but I'm not going to leave you like this..."

"Robert, stop." Benton interrupted, his voice getting quiet again.

"No! You're not getting out of this that easy, you jackass! Burning your bridge with me isn't going to do you any good after the absolute fucking shitstorm you've just dragged yourself out of."

"Robert, _stop_."

"You can scream at me, call me every name in the book, hit me for all I care, but I'm not leaving. I wouldn't do that. Believe it or not, I may be capable of some pretty inhuman, callous acts of vindication but I'm not a monster—"

Benton moved closer this time. And Romano was almost sure that he was going to hit him right on the nose and leave him there, bleeding in his office, his attempt of actually showing some sort of compassion towards someone other than his dog shot down as he sat, defeated, nursing a broken heart (and probably a broken nose), silently vowing to never love again in that dark room.

But no.

Instead, Benton took the man in his arms, leaning down slightly to accommodate his height, burying his face into the crook of his neck. He held him, clinging to him for dear life.

Romano stood still for a moment, surprised at his sudden change of heart.

He slowly wrapped his arms around the man, holding him just as close. He was still afraid the man would flee if he moved too quickly, and just held him there in the back of his office.

The bald man felt his heart break as Benton hugged him tighter to his chest, weeping into his shoulder.

"Oh, Peter..." he murmured softly to the now trembling surgeon. He brought a hand around to rub his back in slow, comforting circles.

"I-...I should've been there for him. I should have kept him from getting involved." Benton said shakily against Romano's thick lab jacket.

"There was nothing you could've done. It's not your fault." Romano reassured him gently, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

"I-I could have stopped this, Robert. I could've been around more. I-I could have—" the other man hushed him, squeezing him tighter.

"It's not your fault Peter. It's not his either." Tears stung at Romano's eyes, his chest aching badly as sobs wracked Peter's body. Not sure of what else he could say to comfort the poor man, he just held him in his arms, occasionally rubbing little circles between his shoulder blades, whispering soft reassurances into his ear. He'd never seen the man like this, and frankly, it killed him with every passing second, seeing him so miserable.

He'd never had anyone really cry on his shoulder before. Probably because the _Almighty and All-powerful Rocket Romano's Shoulder_ was not one to be cried on. Sure, there'd been a devastated patient here, an incredibly joyful one there, both of which he just stood there awkwardly with until they were eventually peeled off him by a nurse.

To his surprise, he didn't feel so awkward with Peter, who happened to be a colleague, no less. He expected to, but he just—didn't.

He'd only felt an overwhelming urge to protect the man then, to keep him from anything else that might ever make him cry again. He wanted to hug him, kiss his head, tell him he loved him, _anything _if it'd make him feel even a little bit better. The dreadful sound of his muffled sobs even made Romano himself feel like crying.

Robert had quit rubbing Peter's back as his tears began to slow, just holding the man in his dim office. He rocked the man gently in his arms, shifting his weight on his heels back and forth.

"It's alright. I've got you..." Robert mumbled to the man. He wiped away a few stray tears from his face he didn't even know had fallen. "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault."

Benton pulled away to look at the man after a little while. Romano held his head in both hands, gazing into his wet, red rimmed eyes. He moved to brush his fingers against the little purple bruise underneath one eye.

Romano marveled at just how _handsome _the man still looked, despite being flung through the wringer. The mark on his face only added to his rugged charm. Had the circumstances been a lot different, Romano would probably not have still been clad in his lab coat, shirt, and tie for this long.

He leaned up then, pressing a soft kiss to the dark mark on Peter's face, his lips just _barely_ brushing the skin there, not wanting to hurt the man any more than he had been. He reveled in the warmth and softness of his skin, a striking contrast from the cold words that had left his mouth just minutes ago. Peter shut his eyes at the contact as another silent tear rolled down his cheek, only to be kissed away by Romano.

Peter leaned down then, ever so slightly, allowing his lips to meet Romano's in a tender, yet passionate kiss, one soaked in pain and raw emotion. The bald man kissed him back slowly, still holding the man's face in a gentle caress as the kiss gradually deepened. The other man moved his shaking hands moved to grip the sides of Romano's lab jacket, holding on to them for dear life.

They kiss broke after a long minute, their lips parting with a soft noise that managed to fill the silent room on its own.

Peter leaned his head against Romano's shoulder as if it were the only thing keeping him standing. Romano wrapped an arm around him again, squeezing him to his chest. With his free hand, he ran his fingers through the soft black hair on the back of his head, gently caressing it.

"It's okay." Romano murmured in his ear, his lips pressing a kiss into his hair. His palm began to move up and down the length of his back, rubbing it again, comforting the man. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Just then, someone yanked on the locked door handle quite persistently before knocking. The two failed to move away from each other, having a helluva lot of trust in that opaque glass door.

"Dr. Romano, you're needed in post-op right away. One of Dr. Corday's patients is going south, and before you even ask, Dr. Benton still has yet to be found." Brenda informed the man through the glass door, suspecting nothing out of the ordinary.

"I'm busy right now, Brenda!" He yelled back, still holding Peter in his arms.

"Doing what, taking another one of your afternoon naps?" She snarked at him, becoming inpatient. "And you better go quick, I hear the guy's spinal cord is leaking fluid like Old Faithful back there. Sounds like you might have a pretty hefty malpractice suit to deal with in the near future."

"Get Anspaugh! I can't deal with this right now!"

"I'm pretty sure he's still pissed at you."

"Just _get him_!" He roared back, already tired of her interruption.

Romano's petulance seemed to have worked, causing his assistant to walk away from the door without another word. He turned his attention back to Peter, nuzzling the head resting on his shoulder.

"How're you feeling, love?" Romano murmured into his velvety hair.

"I don't." Peter grumbled back at him, burrowing his head further into the spot between the man's shoulder and his neck. "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what? It's Corday's screw up! She probably sped through that damned procedure so she could get an early start on her weekend Vegas trip with Lewis!" Romano assured him quietly. "Besides, Don owes me one for walking in on us not too long ago. Whether he knows it or _not_."

"You still didn't have to do that. I've been treating you like shit, Robert." Peter said, words once again muffled against Romano's lab jacket.

"Oh come on, that wasn't your fault. I'd be pretty pissed at me too if I were you right now." The man excused him.

"You were only trying to help. You didn't deserve that." Benton picked his head away from the man to look into his dark eyes, bringing a hand up to stroke his cheek. "I'm really sorry."

"Water under the bridge, Peter. You deserve some slack after the day you've had." He retorted, giving Peter a small smile.

"Yeah but I still feel like an asshole. I didn't mean any of that stuff." He leaned down to give him another tender kiss, allowing his lips to linger against Romano's.

"I love you, Robert. I really do. No matter how pissed off I get at you." Peter said earnestly to the man after he'd pulled away, gazing into his eyes. He gave Romano a little smile of his own, one that made the shorter man's heart melt in his chest.

"I love you more." Romano said simply, beaming back at the man, causing his smile to grow larger. He brought a hand up to caress his cheek, his thumb brushing against the soft black down of his goatee. He leaned in, giving him another kiss on the lips, savoring his taste.

He pulled away to look at Peter again, looking back at him with a glint in those coffee colored eyes of his. Peter caught on immediately, giving him a look.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked, amused at the sudden change in his expression.

"How about we get out of here? I can smell an extra large milkshake, burger, and fries with your name on it over at Mickey D's," Romano informed him suggestively. "It's on me."

"That stuff clogs your arteries and pumps you full of preservatives. _You _of all people should know that." Peter said matter-of-factly to the man, who pouted at him.

"Oh come on, Peter! It's been a long, wretched day! You should cut yourself some slack." He whined at Peter, who shook his head slowly, still giving the man a wry smile. "Come on and eat your feelings with me!"

"You wouldn't turn down a hot date with your boss at one of the finest chains in America, now would you?" He asked, still trying to persuade the man.

Peter gazed into Romano's hopeful brown eyes, thinking on the offer. Even after the terrible shift he'd had, he couldn't help but begin to feel quite a bit better around the bald man, whose dimpled smile continued to pull him further out of his dismal mood with each passing second. He still felt a pang of guilt over how harshly he'd treated him earlier, looking down at that big goofy smile, which was plastered to the man who'd wanted nothing more than to be there for him, to make him feel better even if he could never fully understand what he was going through.

Peter kissed Romano's dimples, causing him to giggle before he eventually gave in to his desires yet again.

"Alright, fine. I'll come and poison my body with you, if you insist." He relented, pinching the man's cheeks as he tried to pull away. "As long as you're paying, _Robbie_."

The bald man pulled him into another big hug, squeezing him against his chest. Peter hugged him back, pressing a kiss against his fat head as he secured his arms around his big shoulders.

"It's gonna be okay, Peter." Romano mumbled into his neck, patting the man gently on the back. "Everything's gonna be alright. I'll make sure of it."

"Alright, lets blow this swine infested hospital from hell!" Romano announced, grabbing his trench coat and briefcase to leave for the day. He took Peter's hand to lead him out of his office.

They passed Brenda on the way out, who gawked at them, jaw dropped slightly. Romano shot her a look fit to make children cry and the elderly shit their last pair of Depends.

"Keep your mouth shut and I'm buying your coffee for the next month. Squeal, and I swear to God I'll tie you up in steel chains and toss you into the damn river." He warned her, his tone hardening 10 fold compared to about 15 seconds prior. "Oh, and I guess I could fire you too."

"Yes, sir..." She said promptly, turning her attention back to her work, breaking her stare at the two men.

Romano gave Peter's hand a quick squeeze before letting it go as they left his outer office, allowing the man to saunter off in the direction of the surgeon's locker room to finally change out of those dreadful bloodstained scrubs.

And out they went, in their exodus from Chicago's finest cesspool, out of the patient entrance of course, well on their way to drown their sorrows in the perfect mix of sodium, carbohydrates, and most of all, the most important ingredient, the one that begins with _L_...

LARD.

_To be continued..._

**In case y'all want my completely biased, disgustingly honest opinion, if I'm not shipping Lizzie with little ol' Robbie, then I'm not shipping her with ANY living or dead dude on this show. Especially Mark, a dumb (yet pure of heart) thot who I believe should have been in an OT3 with Doug and Carol. **

**Sorry diehard Greeneday fans, they had fun together, but in the technical sense, they SUCKED together. If Markiepoo hadn't died of cancer, that ship woulda just hit the reef and sunk anyway.**

**Not that this particular ship would work any better. Thank you for listening to my TEDTalk~**


	15. Romano's a Woman He Has NEEDS

**A helluva shift in gears here, gang. This is a good chapter for all of y'all that are just here to read about Robbie and Pete doin' it.**

It was around 9 o'clock on yet another cold Autumn night in the heart of Chicago.

The moon luminesced like a giant OR light in the sky.

The stars sparkled magnificently over the perpetually occupied streets of the Windy City.

And our beloved little surgical hero, Robert Romano, wanted to die.

It had been a full WEEK since his and Peter's previous _discussion_. A full week. That'd been the longest they'd gone since the very beginning. And, consequently, the bald surgeon was beginning to lose his _fucking _mind.

Granted, their prolonged time away from each other had been for a good reason. And no, it wasn't the old, clichè...downright IDIOTIC _absence makes the heart grow fonder _bullshit. Nor had they broken out into some bitter spat over something stupid and agreed to spend some time apart for a little while.

Nope. There had actually been a good reason behind their brief hiatus in their discussions. And they hadn't been _completely _devoid of absolutely _any _and all contact with each other whatsoever. They still had their moments in the hospital, during their shifts or on lunch breaks. A quick kiss between patients here, holding hands in the elevator there, and on occasion even some hot and heavy stuff in Romano's office that could have _eventually _led to one of the _discussions _the bald man had been craving so desperately. Had his pager not gone off, forcing him into the shitfest that was the ER, anyway.

And for now, nights were completely off the table, starting with the death of Peter's nephew; after which, the tall, handsome surgeon had insisted he stay with his sister for a while to make sure she and the rest of the family was okay.

And of course, while he may have been a bit of a prick, he wasn't completely unreasonable. And with that, he had encouraged Peter to take as much time as he needed, and that he was a grown man, able to spend a few nights by himself.

And, slowly, _agonizingly slowly_, a few cold nights became SEVEN cold nights. And, needless to say, Romano was going slightly _mad_.

And on that particularly cold, lonely night, our favorite little height-challenged surgeon lay back in his room, staring at his ceiling, simply wanting nothing more than for our other favorite surgeon, Peter Benton, to be there with him.

Well, to be more _specific_, he wanted Peter to be there with him, hold him in his big arms for a while, kiss him almost deep enough to make him die of oxygen deprivation, tear off his clothes and fuck him so hard his eyeballs went back into his skull.

Sure, he could always _call _Peter. In fact, he usually _would _call Peter at this time of night, just to hear his velvety, rich voice, if only over the phone. Usually, though, it would always make his situation _worse_, his ache for the man growing, his desire for him to be lying naked in his arms expanding exponentially. All it'd ever done is kept him up for another hour or so, or at _least_ until he'd give up hoping and praying to Jesus, Hippocrates, Frank Sinatra—ANYBODY that the love of his life would just show up on his doorstep, shove himself inside the entrance of his home, and inevitably inside the entrance of HIM.

And that Benton was a sly bastard. Robert knew that the taller surgeon could tell how much their time apart was killing him. The lewd _suggestions_ he'd make to Robert over the phone once he was sure nobody in his family had still been lingering in the room. The way he'd intentionally lower his voice to that rather delectable tone that drove Romano nuts, and never failed to make him squirm in his spot. He'd imagine the wanting that radiated from those dark eyes, like little pools of sweet maple syrup.

The bald man sighed, his eyes lingering on his reflection in that gigantic mirror over his large, yet lonely bed. He spread out all his limbs in an effort to make it seem less empty.

It didn't work, though. All he'd done was made himself realize just how short his legs were.

Of course, he wasn't _completely _alone in that big house of his. He still had Gretel, who had been wolfing down her dinner the last time he checked, down in his kitchen.

He sighed, looking down his own reflection, acknowledging a rather noticeable bulge that had sprung up from beneath his baggy sweatpants.

He supposed he _could_ just take care of the unbearable tension within by himself. But it wouldn't be the same. It could _never _be the same as when he was with Peter, or even come close to being quite as satisfying. He could never touch himself the way Peter could.

Accepting his fate, he pulled himself off the bed, already starting towards his bedroom door, with every intention of hitting the linen closet before climbing into an ice cold shower, dissolving his painful desire for his handsome, burly lover.

"_Jesus fuck!_"

As soon as he'd opened the door to exit the room, he stumbled right back into it, nearly falling on his ass.

"You know, I'm really starting to hate it when you do that!" Romano yelled at the man, despite his previous wishes for this _exact _scenario. "How the hell did you even get in here, you creep?!"

"Oh, Dr. Romano, you of all people oughta be smart enough to know that hiding your spare keys under the doormat is never a wise choice."

Low and behold, the object of his imagination, Peter _fucking_ Benton was standing there in his bedroom doorway.

And god damn it, did he look like a snack.

He leaned against the door frame of Romano's luxurious master bedroom, clad in bootcut jeans and his favored leather jacket. It was unbuttoned, and Romano could see his black tank top peeking out from underneath it, along with that thin gold chain he always wore around his neck. And he could tell by his hair that he'd just showered as it glistened in the light on account of its slight dampness.

And either there was a block of wood in his front pocket, or Peter was as happy to see him as he was to see Peter.

"I-...I thought you were with your sist—" Robert couldn't even finish his sentence before Peter had his mouth on him. The rest of his statement had been reduced to a soft moan as the man's tongue pushed into his mouth, taking his breath away. Hands gripped almost savagely at clothes as their tongues caressed each other, dueling for control over the other.

Benton pushed the bald man back, all the way back until he shoved him down onto the bed, clambering on top of him.

They finally broke apart for a moment as their lungs began to run out of air, panting and shaking from their heated efforts.

"She insisted she'd be alright tonight. Reese's uncle's got the night off." Peter rasped, pulling away for just long enough to convey that brief thought, before his lips immediately found Robert's again in another passionate kiss. Those large, strong hands of his hiked up the soft fabric of his nightshirt, relishing in the feeling of his warm freckled skin underneath his palms.

The bald man put a hand against Peter's warm chest, right around his sternum. The other man's heart raced against it, only feeding Robert's lavish excitement.

Peter broke the kiss again as his lips moved to his neck, tasting the sensitive skin there hungrily.

"_Oh God, Dr. Benton_..." Robert moaned, arching his back as Benton's hands found the sides of his sweatpants, pulling them down slowly. He tore his mouth away from the worked up surgeon's neck to pull them all the way off, leaving his lower half deliciously bare, save for his socks. He stood at the side of the bed, his eyes raking over the shorter man.

"Now _that_," Peter started huskily, those beautiful, honey colored eyes of his glued to Romano's thighs and erect member as he licked his lips. "Is a sight I've missed. _So much_..."

"Well Congratulations, Peter. You've got me right where you want me," Romano said lowly, his eyes boring into Peter's in a sultry glare. His cheeks were colored in a lovely crimson blush, the usual one that the other surgeon always inflicted on him when he even crossed his mind. His legs were spread slightly in anticipation, his rampant prick standing up against his lower abdomen.

"_Now what do you want to do to me?_" He finished softly, an alluring half smile covering his face, his gaze at Peter failing to break.

The tall, dark surgeon pulled off his leather jacket, and then his tank top, leaving his toned chest bare. He dropped the garments to the floor, gazing into the man's eyes lustfully. The sight was to Romano like a good hit of fentanyl was to Carter.

Benton climbed back onto the bed, kneeling between Romano's knees, his hands caressing the tender backs of each of them, rubbing them up and down gently.

He leaned down to give Romano a soft, loving kiss on the lips before he pulled away, looking into those coffee colored orbs.

"I want to make sweet, _sweet_ love to you, Dr. Romano..." Benton purred as his eyes ran over his body once again. Peter was looking at him as if he were one of Carole Baskin's tigers and Romano was her now dead husband. "If it's alright, of course."

Romano moved his hands down to the hem of his own nightshirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it off the side of the bed.

"I'd say it's a hell of a lot more than alright Dr. Benton," he said, his tone dropping down low like it always did when Benton was around him, getting him feeling hot and worked up.

Romano reached his hands up to the belt that fastened around Benton's jeans, pulling the buckle loose deftly with his fingers. "In fact, as your boss, I'm telling you that if you don't let me take _these _off and fuck me senseless, you're fired." He unzipped the offending garment, working on pulling it down Benton's hips.

"With all due respect, Dr. Romano..." Peter murmured, pulling his jeans off, leaving just his socks on. His socks, and his boxers, the fabric of which was being stretched significantly by the sheer size of Peter's manhood. He stroked Romano's chest, gently playing with the soft auburn down there with his fingertips. The man sighed at his delicate touch. It seemed to feel brand new after being deprived of it for so long.

Benton pulled himself back over Robert again, giving him that intense stare with those riveting, cocoa colored eyes of his. He straddled the shorter man's hips, pinning him to the bed. His voice dropped down to an enticing whisper as he ran his thumbs along the soft grooves of Robert's hip bones.

"_You're not the boss of me here_."

He leaned down then, seizing Romano's kiss swollen lips, pushing his tongue back where it belonged. Peter's hands held his bald head in place, ravaging his mouth, causing him to moan loudly against him.

Romano pushed his his hips up towards Peter's bare abdomen, desperate for purchase against his neglected, untouched member. And whatever progress he made pushing his hips closer to Peter would be revoked when he pulled his body just _slightly _further from him, keeping him close, but not close enough to stroke against him.

Benton broke the kiss and moved one of his hands down to pinch Romano's ass hard, causing him to whine.

"Quit squirming around, or I'll _stop_..." the taller man warned, giving him an intense glare.

"You're never any fun, you know that Peter?" Romano griped, his hips still moving desperately to their own accord.

Peter sat back to look at Romano, putting his hands on his thighs. He rubbed them up and down, caressing the sensitive skin on the insides of them, his touch so close but yet so far from where Romano needed it most. He moved them up to his stomach, running them over the firm wall of muscle in his abdomen, toned from what Peter presumed had been some heavy lifting. Heavy lifting, or the weeks upon weeks worth of karate lessons he'd been taking since before they'd even shacked up.

It was probably the second action.

The bald man groaned, closing his eyes as he reveled in the sensation, desperately wanting more. Benton's hands went up his broad chest, stopping to trace his collarbones, then came back down again, grazing over his rib cage, his hips, everything except his hot, throbbing manhood. Precome oozed from its responsive pink tip, shimmering in the soft light of his bedside lamp as it beaded up. It ran down his shaft, making it glisten like an Olympic swimmer, fresh from the pool after a 4x100m relay.

The mere sight of it made Peter want to relinquish the control he'd established over the bald man and take all of him into his mouth, sucking so hard that he'd make the man's toes curl and his fists grip the sheets.

"Why do you hate me?" Robert moaned as Benton's fingers dexterously traced the V-lines in his hips.

"I don't hate you, Robert. I _love_ you." Benton replied in that silky tone of his, earning an imploring look from the bald man. He leaned forward to press a kiss to his soft red lips, catching his bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle caress. The man beneath him hissed, squirming from the electric jolt that raced through his naked body, caused by such a simple action.

"Just be patient, and I'll _show _you how much I love you..." Benton murmured, pressing kisses against his sharp jawline, one of his favorite spots on the snarky bald surgeon to kiss. Well, favorite _G-rated spots, _anyway...

Robert moaned loudly as he moved lower, sucking gently on his Adam's Apple, feeling it bob up and down with each little noise that bubbled up from the back of the man's throat.

"Why can't you just drop the act and _take me already_?" He insisted, feeling just about ready to die again. "I swear to God, Peter. You're going to be the death of me..."

Benton pulled back to look at the man, smirking at his flushed skin and bare form, which shook incessantly from his raw, almost animalistic desire.

"If I took you now, I wouldn't get to see you like _this_..." he purred, taking in the sight of his boss, who lay there, desperate for his own subordinate to crawl between his thighs and pound him like two cellar doors caught in a hurricane.

Benton then lowered his head down, getting between the man's knees, kissing up the inside of his thigh. Romano threw his head back into his pillow, the feeling of the man's lips against his porcelain, freckled skin making him feel dizzy. As far as he was concerned, he could die right at that moment and be perfectly happy, just as long as the feeling of pure and utter bliss that only Peter invoked from him would be his final bodily experience.

Benton's soft, sensual kisses on his sensitive skin trailed up and up, up till his mouth met with the delicate pouch that hung beneath his tragically neglected length.

Romano grasped at the fabric of his sheets, gasping as Peter's tongue caressed his balls, sucking them into his mouth. His hands reached down, holding Peter's head as he ground his hips against his mouth, the feeling of his tongue dragging against his scrotum threatening to overwhelm him.

He moaned, pulling Peter's mouth closer to him.

"Oh God..." he whined as he spread his legs wider to the man. "Peter, love...please go higher."

The taller surgeon relented, pulling his head up, giving into temptation as his lips wrapped around Robert, the man's throbbing member hitting the back of his throat. He licked and sucked him clean of the salty, slick fluid, causing him to yell out.

Robert repeated Peter's name over and over, as if he were afraid he'd stop. The other surgeon might just have sniggered at the plea in the bald man's voice, had he not been so engrossed in the task at hand. At the moment, he was focused completely on turning his boss into a moaning, trembling mess.

"Ah God, Peter!" He cried as the other man's tongue circled the firm, sensitive tip of his member as fast as it could go. His main weakness when it came to their heated discussions.

"If you keep yelling like that, pretty soon your neighbors are gonna know my name..." Peter rasped after he'd pulled away, after Romano had gotten just a bit too close to his own climax. He licked his spent from his lips, savoring the taste.

He pulled himself off of Robert tentatively, fetching a small bottle of lubricant from the pocket of his leather jacket.

Benton planted himself back between Robert's legs, moving to squeeze some of the gel out onto his hand when the bald surgeon stopped him.

"Just give it to me now, Peter. I can take it." He rasped, urging the other man to push his length into him without any further hesitation.

"Robert, I don't want to hurt you..."

"You won't. Please Peter, just _give it to me_..." Robert begged. He pulled down the man's boxers, letting his erection spring free of the offending garment.

Romano ran his hand over Peter's length. It was thick, as hard as a rock, and uncut. His dark skin was hot against his palm, only causing his excitement to grow from all encompassing to almost unbearable.

And Peter didn't stop Romano, even when he moved to pull the bottle from his hand, squeezing some out onto his knob. The other surgeon groaned, throwing his head back as Romano moved his hand along the length of his engorged prick, up and down, until it produced a glint with its slickness, reflecting the soft light from the man's bedside lamp.

Benton spread Romano's legs even wider, lining himself up with the man's tight entrance. He got up on his knees between the man's legs, holding onto the dark oak wood headboard at the top of the man's bed. Romano only spread his legs wider in anticipation, his hands seeking out the man's soft, dark skin, running them up and down his sides, willing him on.

Slowly, _painstakingly slowly_, Benton pushed himself into Romano, stretching him. He moaned loudly with each inch that glided into him. A divine sort of stinging pain came to his attention, the consequence of his lack of preparation mixing with the blinding pleasure derived from Benton's member sliding against his prostate.

Robert raked his nails across the expanse of Benton's warm, brown skin, trailing from the back of his ribcage all the way to his stomach, just below his chest. Before long, the tall man had his member all the way inside of him, his balls pressed tightly against Robert's backside.

"Are you all right?" Benton asked him, taking one hand off the bed frame to stroke Romano's cheek, looking into his eyes, lust mixing with concern as he gauged the man's reaction.

"I will be, as long as you quit worrying and _fuck me_." Robert growled, dragging Peter closer to him on the bed by his waist.

The brawny top returned his other hand to the wooden headboard, bracing himself against it with his strong, muscular arms as he began to thrust, slowly and steadily in and out of Robert's clenched entrance.

The bald man moaned loudly, spreading his legs wider to the man, wrapping them around him to draw him closer. His hot, freckled skin was damp with perspiration, and the sensation radiating from his pelvis all the way up his body. He felt like he could melt from the inside as Peter sped up.

Every jolt of the man's hips sent sparks up Robert's spine.

"Harder, Peter..." he whimpered, his hands gripping the man's hips as he hammered against his prostate. The force of his pounding into the man soon caused the bed to creak as he sped up even more.

Robert's eyes wandered upward, where he'd been looking not 20 minutes beforehand. He took in the picture depicted through their reflection. The sight of Peter's perspiring, strongly built form moving against him captivated him fully. His broad, robust shoulders were tense as he put all of his focus into pleasing the man, putting his strength to good work as he continued to rock him harder and harder with each sharp thrust.

He took a glance at his own reflection, blushing hard as he looked at himself, his legs spread wide open, his face reddened to a point he'd never previously thought possible. And his _eyes_. He'd never seen so much unrestrained sexual desire in anyone's eyes as long as he'd lived, let alone is own coffee colored globes.

His eyes flicked back to Peter, his beautiful, muscular body connected perfectly with his own.

Sensing that the man was slightly distracted, Peter followed Robert's eyes to where he was looking at their naked, entwined bodies.

"God, you look amazing when you've been pumped full of cock..." The darker surgeon noted breathlessly, the image in the mirror like smooth champagne to his eyes. His words just made Romano blush even more.

The shorter surgeon let out several desperate, breathy little moans as Peter sped up, his thrusts shifting to a new angle, one that caused his rock hard member to hit that responsive bundle of nerves perfectly, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

"Of course, you'd only ever look _this _good pumped full of _my _cock..." he groaned, taking his hands off the headboard and gripping Romano's hips, picking up on how the new angle was effecting him so. Romano's hot red blush had spread to his ears, even hitting some of his neck as Peter drove him into oblivion, his hips caught in a vice like grip in Peter's hands.

"_Peter_..." he moaned out loudly, his eyes slamming shut as Peter's member stroked harder and faster against his prostate. His own member throbbed at the tip, and he began to stroke it to the frantic, yet controlled rhythm of Peter's bucking hips.

"With all due respect, Dr. Romano, I don't want to see you going to anybody else for this kind of treatment. Ever..." he continued. He stopped his movements abruptly, causing Romano to whimper as he was pulled back from the edge yet again. Peter took Romano's wrist in a tight grip, keeping him from rubbing at his own swollen manhood. His other hand found his jaw, tilting his head upward to make him look straight into his eyes.

"_Peter!_" He cried, his muscles clenching around the man's turgid penis. His hands gripped at Benton's own hips, nails digging into the sides of them in an attempt to get him moving again.

Benton pinned himself over Romano then, his hands on both of his wrists, holding them in a tight grasp on either side of his bald head. He remained on his knees though, with Romano's legs wrapped tightly around him, shaking from how close he was to his release, nearly driven to hysterics from the other man's lack of movement.

The intensity in Benton's dark, almost black eyes almost scared Romano as he stared right into them, the man's face getting so close to his own. He could feel his hot, labored breaths against his flushed skin.

"You're mine, Dr. Romano," Peter said huskily, his smoky eyes boring straight through the man beneath him. "Out there, you may be the boss of me and just about everyone else in that damned hospital, but mark my words. Between the sheets, I'm the boss. And you're all mine. _Nobody else's_."

"Of course, Peter...you do to me what nobody else can..." Romano pleaded, hoping to just convince him so he'd keep pummeling him, pummeling him hard until he came all over.

"_Say it_. Say it for me, and I'll let you come." Peter said, his voice so quiet and smooth, almost at a whisper. "Tell me that you're mine. No one else's."

Romano hesitated, his eyes searching Benton's perspiring face. He'd never seen him like this. So intense. So _possessive_. It was intimidating, and almost frightening, yet so, _so _alluring at the same time. The sound of Benton's voice when he got like this was almost enough to finish him off on its own.

The grip on his wrists tightened significantly. "Go on, Dr. Romano. _Tell me._ You know it's true..."

"I'm yours, Peter. All yours," he said earnestly, his eyes casting a certain emotion that told the other surgeon that he was hardly bluffing. Not at all. Romano was his, _all his_. "_No one else's_."

Peter moved his hands upward, holding both of Romano's, lacing their fingers together.

He thrust into the man, relentlessly, each one getting harder, and harder, and _harder_ as he pushed himself as deep as he could into him.

"Oh...oh _God Peter!_" Romano screamed, his strangled cry of passion ripping from him along with his intense orgasm, giving him a head rush fit to make one blow an aneurism. He vibrated against Peter, his sticky hot spent rolling out of him in thick ropes, splattering against the other man's chest and all over himself.

"Yes...yes..._yes_!" Peter cried, his voice run ragged from his ardent declarations of his inevitable release.

"Fuck..._Robert!" _

Peter spilled himself deep inside of the man, trembling as the feeling of his own climax threatened to overtake him. He collapsed on top of Romano, their bodies still connected as they radiated against each other, shaking still from their exertions.

Benton pulled out of him, leaving his seed to run out of Romano's entrance as he lay next to him. He took his hand, lacing their fingers together yet again.

"Good God, I've missed that." Robert sighed after a quiet minute, moving his head closer to Peter's on his large bed.

"Yeah. Me too." Benton replied as he gazed dreamily up at their reflection in the mirror, their bodies cooling down in a warm afterglow. "I'm glad I ran all the way over here in the freezing cold for this. God you're amazing."

They were quiet for another minute, listening to each other's labored breathing, thoughts wandering.

"I could never replace you, Peter." Robert said honestly after a while, turning his head to look at the other man. "Not as a surgeon. Or a colleague. And certainly not as a _lover_."

Peter smiled at him. Another one of those genuine, toothy, ear-to-ear smiles that made Romano's heart flutter and his stomach fill with butterflies.

"Well, I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that, _Robbie_." His smile was contagious, immediately mirroring itself in the middle of Robert's dimpled cheeks.

"You mean everything to me. I love you a helluva lot." Robert reminded him. Peter leaned over to kiss his dimples, making him giggle, just like always.

"I love you too. I love you more than Kerry Weaver loves hospital gossip. Which, as you know, is also a helluva lot."

Romano shifted closer to Peter, lying so that both men were chest to chest, covering the taller man with his body. He snuggled himself against the man, the weight of their exertions and a week's worth of sexual tension having just been released taking its toll on his already low energy. _Especially _after his latest shift.

Peter wrapped his arms around Romano's form, nuzzling his big bald head.

It wasn't long before the two drifted off, sleeping soundly in each other's arms as the cold autumn night faded into a crisp new morning.

_To be continued..._

**If you didn't get my earlier Tiger King reference because you haven't watched the Netflix original OR crawled out from under your rock to at least read the new articles then you're a LOOOSER.**


	16. BitterDreams

**Well, we fuckin' did it children. We broke 40,000 words for this god damned abomination. If any of y'all are out there, be sure to rate and review this...thing. Don't be shy, I don't bite. Well, not much.**

**It's all downhill from here :)**

**Another fluffy ass one, and it's kinda short compared to the last few, but bear with me. **

All he could hear was the frantic screaming of various machines. They were like nails on a chalkboard, the damn things, even though they were partially responsible for keeping him alive, if only for just a little while.

Light shined in his eyes at a blinding intensity. It felt like his corneas were searing in his fucking skull, but he still just _couldn't _see anything in his chest cavity.

And the _smell._

It was that typical hospital smell, the one that always stuck to his clothes no matter how much or how little time he spent in that chaotic vortex of bleeding wounds and inevitable death. It didn't smell like anything specific. Medicine, maybe, combined with rubbing alcohol. Otherwise, it was just known as a distinct _hospital_ smell.

God how he hated that smell.

Especially in the midst of a trauma, when it mingled with the coppery, overpowering smell of blood. Fresh blood, that always seemed to gush at an alarming rate in that ER. This time, he just couldn't seem to get it to stop, no matter how hard he tried.

It was almost all he could smell, even more so than the hospital smell, as he worked, tirelessly, _desperately _to save him.

"More lap pads! And quit blocking my light, would ya?! I need to visualize this bleeder!" He barked out to a nurse. He knew there were others in the room with him, others who were trying to help, but for the life of him, he just couldn't make out who they were.

Not to mention the open chest cavity in front of him.

"Damn it! I said I need more light! And more lap pads, I can't see a thing!" The bleeding was getting worse. So much worse. No matter how many of those damned lap pads they used, or how much one of the nurses in the room suctioned.

As blood began to spill on the floor, and splatter all over his blue scrub top, he began to panic.

"Come on! What's it take to get some more light in here?! And for God's sake aren't there more attendings down here to help me stabilize these bleeders?!" He figured any medical instruments were shot to hell by now. His gloved hands, sticky from the sickening red substance plunged into the boy's chest cavity, trying, searching desperately for whatever was causing him to bleed _this much_. And God damn it, why couldn't he see anything?!

He could feel his heart racing in his chest as he kept up the efforts.

A new sound filled his senses—the heart monitor.

It screeched perpetually, at a high pitched monotone that made a burning pit form in his stomach. _Asystole_.

He took his attention away from those bleeding vessels and raced to find the boy's heart, massaging the cardiac muscle, praying to God it'd get him back, at least for long enough to repair some of the damage.

"Come on, Jessie. Hang in there..." he pleaded, doubling his efforts. "Internal paddles! We need to shock his heart back into rhythm!"

Nobody moved.

"Come on, what are you waiting for?! We can still bring him back!"

"Peter, it's over." Kerry Weaver said, having materialized out of absolutely nowhere just in time. She stared him down with dark, unsympathetic eyes.

"Shut up Kerry! We can still save him!" He was shaking from his efforts now. His hands pumped Jessie's heart, over and over, but despite it all, the monitor still showed a flatline.

"Come on Jessie...don't do this to me." Tears choked him up, making him barely able to get the words out through them.

"Peter, it's over..." a new voice came into his perception. One he'd just heard not long ago...

"Just call it. It's been 40 minutes."

His shoulders shook as he wept, sobs wracking his body. He couldn't bare to look at the clock, couldn't _bare_ to say or do anything more, or even look at the boy. The same boy he'd failed, the one he couldn't bring back no matter how hard he tried.

His shoulders shook harder as tears spilled down his cheeks. That voice came back to him again, persistent to keep his attention.

"Peter..."

He ignored it, too focused on his own misery to care.

"_Peter_!"

He woke up with a start, gasping for air. His labored breaths came out in sobs as he rapidly took in his surroundings, having absolutely no idea where he was. It was dark, kind of warm, and there were definitely some sheets and some pillows behind him.

He began to scramble around the bed, still in a daze. Palming around the soft surface, his hand hit something firm. An arm found its way around him, causing his incessant squirming to stop.

"Peter, it's okay. You're okay..." Robert whispered to the man, hoping to ease him out of his sleep induced delirium. He wrapped both arms around him, squeezing him around his broad chest, which still heaved with panicked, uneasy breaths. "It was just a bad dream. Just relax..."

"Robert?" Now he remembered.

His eyes flicked to the digital clock on Robert's nightstand. It read 2:47 a.m..

It had been the night after where the story of our two surgical heroes left off. With his sister Jackie's blessing (which was really just her insistence so she could spend some time alone without Peter breathing down her neck for only the second time in over a week) and her promise that she'd watch Reese again, he'd ventured off to Robert's not-so-humble abode, bearing roughly 40$ worth of Chinese food and a bottle of Riesling.

It had been another one of Peter's little low budget and underrated candle-lit dinners, one they had this time in Robert's lounge.

Needless to say after their ravenous appetites had been taken care of, and a hefty amount of the cool, crisp alcohol had been downed by our two surgeons, another discussion had inevitably taken place.

And they must have fallen asleep immediately after their _discussion, _because Peter couldn't remember much past that.

Well, at least until he'd been so unpleasantly awakened.

His heart still pounded in his chest as Robert held him, rubbing his back with one hand as he murmured sweet nothings against his temple.

"Everything's alright now. You just had a nightmare. You're okay." He pressed a soft kiss to the side of Peter's head. The man relaxed in his arms after another moment as his surroundings became more familiar to him, and his breathing evened out.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Romano mumbled against his head.

"I was trying to save him, Robert. I..." that damn nightmare. It felt so real. Even after a couple minutes or so of waking up and getting his bearings and those soft, whispered words from Robert, he still half expected to be dragged right back into that trauma room, to be thrown right back into watching his own nephew be taken away from him in front of his very own eyes. "I thought there was still time."

Slowly, the bald surgeon beside him began to understand.

"Oh, Peter. I'm so sorry," his arms tightened more around Peter's slightly trembling form. He pulled the man closer, tucking Peter's head under his chin. "You did everything you could, you know. This wasn't your fault."

"I know, Robert. I know...but I just can't help feeling like I still could have done something. Something different, in that trauma room, back at home..." Peter sighed, leaning his head against Robert's chest heavily. The bald man brought his hand up to run his fingers through the man's short hair, gently raking his nails against his scalp, trying to calm him.

"Peter, honey. You're an amazing man, and a brilliant surgeon, but you're not Jesus..." Robert murmured, still scratching the man's head. "There was nothing you could have done, nothing anyone could have done. And he sure as hell didn't see it coming."

They stayed quiet for a while, with nothing but the occasional car or two passing by on the street every now and then, coupled with the two men's breathing to fill the silence. And of course Gretel, who lie at the foot of Robert's behemoth of a bed, snoring away, blissfully unaware of their late night exchange.

Peter leaned his head lower on Robert's chest, listening to his slow, steady heartbeat. It worked like his own personal lullaby, the damn thing. A rhythm reserved especially for him. Slowly, the feeling of white-knuckled panic and heart wrenching sadness melted from him as his head grew heavier and heavier against the short man's chest.

The feeling of his fingertips against his head made the taller surgeon start to feel tired again, his eyelids slowly falling closed despite his determination to keep himself awake, to make this moment last just a little bit longer.

Noticing that Peter was getting more and more tired with each passing second, Romano gently pulled him by his shoulder to lie back down on the bed. The other man curled up to him even more, his head still resting on his bare chest.

"Everything's alright, love. I've got you..." he assured the man, still petting him. His other arm wrapped around him, holding him closer. "Go back to sleep. Try _not _to dream about death and destruction this time. Not to mention _County _of all places."

"I will if I can help it..." Peter murmured against Romano's chest, his arm draped over his stomach, which rose and fell with his slow, even breaths.

The bald man pressed another kiss to his head. "I love you, Peter. I'm not gonna let anything hurt you ever again. Not if I can help it..."

He was met with stony silence, the man in his arms already having drifted off to sleep. His hand just reached for the warm blanket that covered their hips, pulling it up to Benton's shoulders, tucking him in.

Robert fell asleep soon after, gazing at the man he loved, hoping his dreams would be a lot sweeter for the remainder of their night.


	17. AnOccupationalDisagreement

**Another smutty Juan. Based loosely on 07x12, even thought the time line doesn't completely add up, but who the fuck's keeping track.**

**Really went off the deep end in this one. Quarantine has NOT been kind to me, I can tell you that. **

It was yet another lovely Wednesday afternoon in the city of Chicago. About 3 weeks or so from where we left off, in fact.

Christmas was right around the corner.

The snow was falling outside as fast as the U.S.'s employment rate during this wretched pandemic.

Dr. Carter had just hit on his 182,827,104th love interest who _just so happened_ to be part of the hospital staff, throwing himself into yet another shitstorm of his usual girl drama.

And our very own surgical prodigy, Peter Benton, was currently strutting down the hall of the surgical floor, hellbent on storming our other little surgical prodigy, Robert Romano's office.

Ignoring the look he received from Brenda, he strode through the bald man's outer office, throwing his second office door open without any warning and slamming it shut behind him. Romano merely eyed him from behind his desk, much like he'd done on that oh so fateful day...

"Good lord, Peter! I hope to God you haven't barged in to ask me to help you build a snowman on this bright winter day, because the answer is no. If you plan on giving me that attitude, anyway..." the bald man said cheerily, despite the scowl on the bitchy surgeon's face. '_For God's sake, does he always have to be so dramatic?!_'

"You conniving little brat. You set me up!"

"Hey, what the hell did I say about calling me little? We've been over this literally 50 times already," Romano yapped at the fuming surgeon, who put his hands on his hips like your annoying neighbor Karen when she realizes she can't get her weekly mani-pedi with her girlfriends because of the quarantine, silently vowing to make an 8 paragraph Facebook rant about the whole tragedy. "And besides, I didn't set you up! I offered you a position, you took it, end of story!"

"You offered me the position and I took it without even knowing what it was! Then you had the audacity to drag me to a God damned _press conference _when you knew damn well I was fresh out of surgery! And it literally had everything to do with the position you gave me literally 30 seconds prior! That was a dick move and you know it." Peter complained to Robert, his scowl deepening by the second. He loved that snarky, bald little toad, but in that moment, his amused smirk made him more annoyed than he ever thought humanly possible.

"Honestly, Peter, I don't know what you're so upset about! You got thrown in the deep end with that press conference, yes. But now you've got an extra twenty grand added to your salary! And I'd think that answering a few questions wouldn't be a problem for someone of your intellect, especially with a boost like that on your shoulders!" Robert ranted still to the pissed off man before him.

Benton turned around and locked the door, drawing a sigh from Romano, who knew he was in it for the long haul. '_Talk about making a fucking mountain out of a mole hill...'_

The taller man then walked closer, a lot closer to Romano's dark, hardwood desk, placing both of his palms down, leaning forward on it as he stared the man down. Romano squirmed in his seat, those tinted eyes of his seeming like they'd never fail to have that intoxicating effect on him.

"It wasn't a _few questions_, it was an hour-long conference and I blanked on 60% of what they asked me because I had no time to _prepare!_" He bitched in the man's face. Despite Benton's intense, relentless stare into his coffee colored eyes, Romano remained complacent, a huge grin creeping across his face.

"Anyone ever tell you how cute you look when you're mad?" He said sweetly, resting his head on his hands, looking at the taller man dreamily. Benton wasn't having any of it.

He brought his face closer to the man, neglecting to break eye contact. His hulking figure hovered over his desk, his hands moving on either side of where Romano's elbows propped his hands up to his fat head. Romano held his ground, though, staring at the man with sparkling eyes.

"20 grand added to my salary or not, that was really quite low of you, _Dr. Romano_," his voice got low again. Real low. A shiver ran down his spine at the sound of it. "You really pulled the rug out from under me. And we both know you only gave me that position because I'm African American. That's not how you should be treating your boss. _At all_."

"Well, smack my ass and call me Charlie. Did you really think I was going to appoint Dr. Corday as _Director of Diversity?_" He snarked at Benton, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. "And last time I checked, _I _am the boss of _you_, not the other way around. Are you still scattered from your little press conference this morning, or just completely delusional?"

Benton just glared into his eyes for a long moment, one just long enough to make Robert squirm again, despite his willpower to not let the man get to him. Not this time.

This time would be completely different. He'd just get to fuck with Peter, just like he'd always done and get his sick kicks without being intimidated into submission by his tall, brawny lover.

After all, no one was safe from the vindictive hand of the _Almighty and All-Powerful Rocket Romano_. Not even Peter fucking Benton, the only man in that whole hospital who could break him down, turn him into nothing more than a trembling, moaning,_ perspiring_ mess, craving nothing more than the man's hot, slick length inside of him as he held him, rocking him towards a sort of nirvana only_ he _could bring him to.

He would get the last laugh; he was sure of it.

Even when Peter broke his aggravated glare at the man, his lips upturned in what Robert could have sworn was a hint of a smile. He then circled his desk, standing behind him from where he sat in his swivel chair. The bald man swore he could feel his large, intimidating presence from behind him, without needing needing to look at him at all.

His shoulders tensed up as Peter's hands came down on them, massaging them. The heat from them soaked through the thin fabric of his gray button-down shirt. He relaxed after another moment, as Peter's fingers drew the tension from his muscles. He kept himself quiet though, still trying to keep his cool throughout the entire situation.

"You see, that's where you're _wrong_, Dr. Romano," he purred from behind him, leaning down a bit to bring his mouth closer to his ear. His voice had softened much more, his tone growing from a petulant, almost _shrill _one to that smooth one, the one that felt like hot fudge to Romano's ears. "Sure, you can pretend all you want. Hell, wherever my career's concerned, you actually _are _my boss. But when it comes down to it, I think we both know who's in charge here..." he bit down on Romano's earlobe then, causing him to gasp audibly.

He still kept up his complacency, though, despite the man's hot breath against his sensitive skin.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about Peter. I'm..." he paused, taking a shaky breath as Peter's mouth moved down to a sweet spot on the side of his neck, pressing wet, sloppy kisses against it, sucking hard on the skin there. "I'm your boss. I could fire your ass without so much as an explanation and you know it. And if you don't get out of my office in the next minute or so I—ah!" Peter bit down hard on his neck. Not hard enough to draw blood or anything, but enough to make him feel it. The sensation reverberated from his prickling scalp down to his toes, which curled as Peter's hands made their way to his front, caressing the muscles of his broad chest.

"Ironic. The lean, mean, persecutive _Rocket Romano_, succumbing to the power of his humble employee..." his hands ran down his chest, down his abdomen and back up again, feeling the solid muscle there with his palms, just as he'd done so many times before. He'd never get sick of the feeling, no matter how many times he found himself making love to his boss. Official titles be damned, along with the man's hospital administrative power, they both knew who the _real _boss was here.

"Pretend all you want, Dr. Romano, but you're not the boss of me. Not _really_." He murmured against his neck as his fingers picked open one of his shirt buttons. "I've got all the control in the world over you. God you feel so good, just melting in my hands like this..."

He flung another one of his buttons open, sliding his palm through the gap that was now between both sides of his shirt, his hand brushing over his sternum. Romano sighed at the contact.

"Peter...we really can't do this. I've got a meeting in 20 minutes." He whined, making no effort to move away from Peter, who was pressing kisses into the silky auburn hair on the back of his head.

"_Peter_, I'm serious! I don't wanna barge in there, hickies on my neck, goatee burn on my face, head-to-toe in rumpled clothes that reek of _your_ cologne!" Robert whined some more as Peter's lips found his nape, sending more shivers down his spine. "What the hell are they gonna think?!"

"Well _I_ know for one thing that Anspaugh will just think your _spider infestation _has gotten worse..." the taller surgeon mumbled against the top of his big bald head. "And _besides_, it's only fair that I shove you out there for your meeting, your legs still shaking from how hard I've fucked you after you shoved _me _into that room full of reporters."

Romano groaned at his lewd implication, but mostly from the way the lower half of his body responded in anticipation of that little promise. He felt his member twitch from inside his slacks, hardening with each passing second that the man behind him took working him up, kissing his most sensitive spots, his lips uttering teasing words against his freckled skin.

"This is punishment, isn't it?" Romano griped as Peter's nimble surgeon's fingers worked open another one of his buttons, exposing more of his pale skin, which was splattered with dark little freckles and dusted with soft, wiry hair.

"You're all pissy because I—_oh God_..." more his incessant whining got interrupted by his own soft moaning as Peter's hand found his throbbing erection, rubbing it through his clothes. "This...this is payback...this is unethical, you know that Peter?" His ability to string words together in an organized sentence was wearing thin as Peter rubbed him a bit harder, trying to get that fiery sensation in his groin to grow like his ego had earlier that morning.

"I don't know. What you did this morning was pretty unethical. I'm just returning the favor." Peter's hand moved a bit higher, yanking on the buckle to Romano's leather belt. His other hand stroked his chest and abdomen as his lips continued to murmur those teasing words against the top of his bald head. Each syllable sent prickles through Romano's scalp, to his delicate ears, stopping at the nape of his neck.

And it was at that moment that our little Rocket Romano stopped caring about what he'd look like showing up to that meeting. He wasn't going to cut this little discussion short. _Nothing_ could possess him to end their time together, to just shoot up from his seat and order him to leave, just like he _should_.

Peter worked the belt loose with ease, pulling down his zipper next. His hand reached into his boxers, pulling out his rock hard member. He stroked it, up and down, drawing soft moans of appreciation from Romano.

"Hush, now. Stay quiet. Or I'll stop..." Peter told the man, almost whispering against the his skin. "You wouldn't want anyone to find out we're doing this _here,_ now would you?"

Robert bit his bottom lip as Peter's strokes got faster, trying to make as little noise as possible.

"Not so smug now, are you Dr. Romano?" Peter teased as Romano began to pant, the sensation already causing his turgid member to drip. The only response to his sly remark was another soft moan, one the bald man had failed to stifle with his kiss swollen lips and gritted teeth.

The taller surgeon took his hands away from him, moving to stand at the side of his chair. He undid the tie to his royal blue scrub pants, the ones that practically made Romano's mouth water each and every time he saw him in them. He pulled them down to his upper thighs along with his boxers, exposing his hot, thick length.

The bald man gazed at it, licking his lips as he once again took in his incredible size. Not so large that he couldn't do anything with it at all, but just enough to fill him sufficiently, to rock his world, to satisfy him more than he'd ever thought possible. It was like a king sized Snickers bar, he thought, just as he had in surgery not all that long ago. _His _king sized Snickers bar, all for him and no one else. And it probably tasted at least twice as good.

Romano blushed at his own musings, the tips of his ears turning pink as his eyes sought Peter's own beautiful, cinnamon colored orbs, filled to the brim with love and lust and raw, unrefined _desire_. Better yet, desire for _him_.

"Go on, Dr. Romano. _Taste it_." Benton purred, his voice smoother than 35 year old scotch whiskey. His words only made Romano's rosy pink blush darken. "You know you want to..."

Obediently, Robert turned himself around in his swivel chair, lowering his hot, wet mouth to Peter's engorged prick. He elicited a loud groan from the man, one that he quickly muffled with one of hands while the other rest against the back of Robert's bald head, his fingers playing with the soft down that dusted it from ear to ear. Robert held the man's hips in both hands as his tongue swirled around the tip of his penis, lapping away the salty spent that oozed from it.

Peter watched intently as the man took in more and more of his length, his tongue brushing his most sensitive spots, tasting him all over. The hand that wasn't clasped tightly over his mouth to keep himself quiet gripped the desk tightly. The mere sight of Romano's lips wrapped around him, taking his time, working him into his mouth inch by inch was almost enough to make him finish on its own. He loved the sight of it almost more than when he had the man impaled on his rigid member, pumping in and out of him, making him moan and yell his name.

Eventually, Peter had to pull Romano's head away from him, his legs beginning to shake from his efforts.

"God. If you keep that up...I'm not going to last much longer..." he rasped at the bald man, who looked at him, a small smile forming on his lips as he took in Peter's flushed cheeks and broad chest, which heaved with his rapid, heavy breaths.

Romano stood up then, kissing Peter hard, pushing his tongue into his mouth, savoring the taste he'd been craving all damn day. The other surgeon returned the kiss ardently, pulling him close, his hands untucking his shirt to move them up and down his sides in a loving caress. His fingers brushed his ribs, then moved to his strong, robust shoulders, feeling the tense muscle there just as he'd done before.

Romano braced himself against his desk, his hands splayed as he leaned against it. His stomach pressed against its edge as Peter pulled down his slacks from behind him, exposing his white, freckled backside. He fell to his knees, bringing his mouth to his tight, hot entrance. Peter gathered his ass in both of his hands, spreading him open, exposing him as much as he could to his mouth.

Robert moaned into his spacious, glorious Chief-of-Staff-and-Head-of-Surgery grade office as his subordinate ran his tongue over his twitching hole. He let himself get bent over his large, dark oak desk as Peter slipped his tongue inside of him, pushing it in as far as it could go.

"Good _God_, Peter..." he groaned softly, doing his absolute best to keep himself quiet, even though he wanted nothing more that to cry out his primal approval to the man. Robert clung to his desk as the man thrust his tongue in and out of him, nearly coming undone with nothing more than his employee's mouth.

Benton picked himself back up after a few bit, standing behind him. His hand sought out that little bottle of lotion he knew Robert still had on that desk. Pumping out a small dollop, he stroked his own length, distributing the slick cream evenly up and down his shaft, preparing himself for the man who currently stood bent over his own desk, aching for him to fuck him senseless.

"_Oh fuck yes..._" the man rasped softly as Peter guided his member into him with one hand, the other holding onto Romano's hip, keeping him in place. The bald man eventually took to biting down on his own forearm to keep himself from drawing attention to the fact that he was currently getting fucked over his desk by his prized attending.

Keeping his moans and groans of praise at bay became infinitely harder when Peter grabbed onto his hips with both hands, pounding into him as hard as he could against that desk, already causing the wood to creak and groan with each powerful movement. His other hand gripped the front edge of the damn thing, until it began to ache and his knuckles turned white.

"_God, you're so tight..._" Peter noted softly as he sped up, shifting his angle, causing his member slide against Romano's prostate in a way that made his legs twitch and his toes curl inside his black loafers. The man beneath him only moaned in response, the sound muffled against his clothed arm.

"Oh God, Peter..." he whimpered as Peter's thrusts got harder and harder. The taller surgeon had reached one of his hands around his hips, tugging on his neglected member at a quick pace. The combined feeling of the man inside of him, coupled with the intense friction he felt at his groin was just so dizzying, just so intoxicating that he felt as if he'd black out. And hell, maybe he had for a moment, losing control of the noises that spewed from his open mouth, because before he knew it, Peter had his hand clasped over his mouth, muffling him. He ceased his movements for a brief moment, much to Robert's despair, and bent down over the man from where he had him pierced on his own length, bringing his mouth to his ear.

"Shh...be quiet, or I swear to God I'll pull right out of you and leave..." he purred in his ear, reducing the man to hysterics at the suggestion. Robert pushed his backside against Peter's hips, trying, _urging _him to rekindle the blinding, disorienting pleasure only _he _could inflict on him.

"I suppose it would serve you right, considering how you screwed me this morning. To just leave you here for your assistant to find, shaking, moaning, _begging _for my cock in the corner of your office..." his voice got breathier towards the end of his teasing remark, his hot, humid breath against Romano's ear and neck, only making him more desperate.

"No, God..._please_ don't leave..." he whimpered, his tone soft and shaky compared to Peter's own velvety, rich voice. "I'll-I'll promote you. Demote you. Whatever the hell you want. I'll even give you my damn office...just please, don't stop...don't—_ah!" _

Peter thrust into Romano again, so hard that one of the bald man's little toy rockets fell off the desk from how hard he was shaking it. Both of Peter's hands held his hips tight, almost tight enough to bruise him as he edged him closer and closer to his release. He bit down hard on his forearm, squeezing his eyes shut, restraining himself from screaming his name.

Robert came hard, getting his hot, white release all over the underside of his desk. It felt like he'd been hit by a freight train, minus the hundreds of broken bones and excruciating pain. His vision darkened, and all he could make out was the opaque door to his inner office, which glowed in the soft golden light from outside. His knees threatened to buckle, but Peter just held him tighter, keeping him standing for as long as possible, continuing to stroke into him. And before his trembling body could even process it fully, he came again, his knees practically vibrating beneath him.

Peter pulled him close as he erupted deep inside of him, filling Romano with his own hot, slick emission. He groaned the man's name as he spilled himself inside of him, holding him close to his own perspiring body.

By the time Robert's vision had restored from the pure and utter bliss derived from his intense orgasm, Peter had pulled out of him, leaving his spent to run down his thighs.

They collapsed against each other, panting hard from the thrill of their exertions.

"Well Dr. Benton, I suppose this means we're even. For now..." Robert said with a slight smirk on his face after he'd turned around to look at the man, leaning heavily on his desk on account of his feeble legs. The taller man reached back up to take Robert's face in a gentle caress, looking him right in the eye with the same lewd amusement that shone in his own coffee stained globes. He leaned into the touch as Peter stroked his cheek with his thumb, drawing a sigh from the man.

"Yes, I suppose it does. And I'm sure you won't be trying to screw me over like that again anytime soon..." he said, still gazing into his eyes.

Robert blushed for the umpteenth time that afternoon, eyes shifting to the hand that rest on his face. They flicked back up to Peter's own, his usual sense of mischief shimmering in them.

"If that's the kind of disciplinary action I'll be receiving from you, I think I might shove you into one of those conferences every day for the rest of your career..." he purred, giving him another one of those bright smiles, the ones that exposed his pearl colored teeth and rosy dimpled cheeks. Peter wasted no time leaning down to attack them with kisses, reducing the man to giggles.

"Don't push it, Dr. Romano. Or instead of handling these things myself I'll sick Anspaugh on you. And he won't be _nearly _as polite." He warned the man with a wry smile once he'd stopped to look at him. He practically glowed from the warm afterglow of their rough, passionate lovemaking.

"Now move along. We wouldn't want you to be late for your little meeting, now would we?" Peter told the man, already redoing his scrub pants, tightening them around his hips.

"And tonight...you'll be expecting me over at yours say...8 o'clock?" Romano asked knowingly, already dying to spend more time in Peter's big arms despite not even having left him yet. His look of premature disappointment was cast towards the floor as he wiped away the excess from his upper thighs and entrance with a Kleenex. Peter stopped his preparation to make his meeting, putting both hands on Romano's shoulders, warming him.

"I'll be waiting. So will Reese. You've got that little man wrapped around your grubby finger, you know." he said sweetly, gaining the man's full attention as he gazed back into those bark colored eyes once again.

"If any of _that _ever gets out, your 'little man' is going to be the death of my ego. Which, after this morning's little stunt, is the size of Jupiter by now." Robert said smirking at the taller surgeon. "Oh, and I suppose Reese would be pretty bad for the damned thing too."

"_Watch it_. Or so help me, you'll be sleeping on the floor tonight." Peter growled at his implication, his aggression drowning in the lovely grin that'd always be plastered to his face around that weird little bald man in front of him.

He leaned down to kiss him again, as his own exclusive way of saying goodbye to County's prized Chief of Staff and—oh, you know who he is. Both men were reluctant to pull away, even though the shorter of them had been due in the Conference Room 5 minutes ago. Something about that particular discussion had made them feel like lovestruck, giddy teenagers who didn't give a shit about much else apart from the fact that they wanted to give every little bit of their time to the other, consequences be damned.

The kiss deepened as hands pulled at half-buttoned clothing. Peter toyed with Romano's Italian silk tie, the one with little wild birds printed all over the front. God how he loved that tie.

Needless to say, our favorite Chief of Staff and Ruler of All That is Evil and Peter Related was late to that meeting. VERY late.

_to be continued..._

**Be sure to rate and review and wash your hands and wear your masks children, it's a dangerous world out there.**


	18. MerryCrisis

**Yes, yes. The opening paragraphs are based loosely on that Tumblr post about how misunderstood the grinch is, which then launches into a whole Spiel about how he and Tony the Tiger are inseparable boyfriends. Don't judge me, quarantine doesn't have me feeling very Christmasy and this was the best idea I could muster up!**

It was a rather magical Christmas Eve in the cold, snow clad city of Chicago. Around 10 o'clock at night, to be exact.

The snow was falling steadily, blanketing everything outside in a thick coat of cold, white bullshit.

Santa Claus was out earning his year giving millions of privileged kids presents made from 100% real slave labor. Skipping over the poor kids' houses, as always.

John Carter had just been dumped by the 183,814,194th woman in his life, yet another one who'd realized what an insufferable little fuckboy he is.

And our favorite little surgical hero, Robert Romano, was home for the holidays after a night of demanding, _exhausting_ labor in the OR.

Well, not in _his _home, but still, he was home for the holidays. Just as long as he was with _him_.

"I always thought The Grinch was a misunderstood guy." The strange bald man noted absently from his spot on Peter's couch, before taking a nice long sip of his boozy eggnog. The taller man beside him laughed.

"The Grinch? I thought we were watching A Christmas Carol!" Peter wondered aloud, taking a sip of his own festive drink, setting it down on the coffee table before him. He then sat back on the couch, wrapping an arm around Robert, pulling him closer. Peter rest his head against Robert's incredibly bald one, taking the hand that wasn't clutching a mug in his own.

Robert leaned his head against Peter's shoulder, gazing at the television as he continued.

"I know what we're watching, smart ass!" He yapped. "I meant that hairy green guy from the other special, the one that hates those villagers because of how much they _love_ the holidays. Hell, they even strung together enough lyrics to cover 2 minutes and 58 seconds of screen time, all of which dragged his ass through the dirt! Damn thing's a household melody, Peter."

"And you've got this information rattling around in that pea-sized brain of yours _why_?" Peter mocked, giving him a look.

"All I'm saying is that I'd be pretty bitter about the holidays too if I was exiled to some cave in the mountains, only to be woken up by singing children 2 or 3 hours before I _actually_ wanna wake up in the morning!" Robert explained to the man, before sipping some more of the rum-filled beverage, which at this time of night had probably gone straight to his head. "Not _even_ to mention the fact that he's known to millions upon millions of Americans as a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce."

"You're only sympathetic of him because he _hates _people and their holiday spirit and so do you!" Peter pointed out, forgetting completely about Ebenezer Scrooge and his bullshit.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. But even so, those damned who's shoulda kept their gross displays of holiday joy at a minimum. Or at least quit their incessant singing every once and a while!" He scowled at Peter as he laughed at his hatred towards the animated beings.

"Aww. You sound just like him, _Robbie." _Peter slurred, wrapping both arms around 'Robbie', pressing a kiss to the side of his head. "You're my own little Grinch!"

Robert's scowl deepened. "For the millionth time, _Petey_, what did I say about calling me little?" He growled as Peter cuddled him drunkenly, nuzzling the little bit of silky auburn hair that remained on the side of his bald head. "If you continue to emasculate me like this, I swear to God, you'll be kissing _this_ ass goodbye!"

"Oh, come on! Don't be like that, Mr. Grinch!" Peter whined, squeezing him tighter, despite the fact that the man looked about ready to douse him in any of the hot liquid left in his mug.

"Besides," Peter started again, his voice dropping down low, down to Robert's favorite tone. "I know you couldn't go one _week_ without me laying your pipe until you can barely sit." He purred in his ear, each word murmured softly against his sideburn. Robert shivered against him, his eyes closing briefly at the sensation trickling down his spine.

Peter moved one hand to Romano's chin then, gently tilting his face to meet his own. Their lips met in a soft, sweet kiss, as the Ghost of Christmas Future made his way onscreen to inform Scrooge of his dismal fate.

Robert haphazardly placed his mug down on the coffee table as the kiss intensified, and he opened his mouth entirely to the man, tasting the sweet notes of eggnog and rich aged rum on him. He savored it, brushing Peter's tongue with his own, letting the man push him back against the couch so that he lay with Peter straddling his hips. The kiss broke when the two were within an inch of suffocation.

"That sweater..." Peter panted, gazing down at the soft red sweater the man wore, tracing the little Christmas tree that was planted in the center of it with his index finger. "It would look better on the floor."

Robert chuckled breathlessly, toying with the tie Benton wore, which was printed with little reindeer. "I could say the same for yourself."

The taller surgeon crashed his lips against Romano's once more, causing him to moan, writhing as Peter's hands slipped underneath his Christmas sweater and ran up and down his sides. Peter pressed his knee between the shorter man's legs, quickly turning his holiday giddiness into excitement, which pooled in his stomach as the taller man's tongue caressed his own.

"With all due respect, Dr. Romano..." Peter rasped that tired old formality to his lover yet again, observing his panting form with hunger in those dark brown eyes of his. There was something rising in his slacks already from the evening's activities, and it sure as hell wasn't Jesus. "I think we should go somewhere more comfortable. We've still got _plenty _of time till Reese wants us to help him open presents, and even _more _time before the family comes over."

"But Peter, I didn't get to finish my eggnog!" Romano feigned disappointment as Peter helped him up from his spot on the couch, already set to drag the man to his bedroom and fill him with some eggnog of his own.

"Fuck your eggnog." Peter said lowly, his eyes still showing just how badly he wanted his boss on that cold Christmas night. "I've got plans to make something on my Mr. Grinch grow three sizes tonight. And that something is _definitely_ not his heart."

And with that, they clambered up to Peter's bedroom, barely making it up 3 stairs before they were on each other again, kissing passionately as they blindly made their way to the taller surgeons door.

And poor old Tiny Tim had to preach his famous lines to nobody back in that living room, as our two heroes busied themselves with each other's company, dragging one another to that blissful state yet again.

_to be continued..._

**The Tumblr post in question, of course: ** post/610876121380241408/wouldntyoulichentoknow-randomslasher

**Along with this other one that ****_I _****personally thought was relevant to this fic: ** post/180273752098/the-grinch-after-i-make-him-cum-8-times

**Stay tuned :)**


	19. SantaClausisaFatCapitalistPig

It was a beautiful Christmas morning in the city of Chicago.

Roughly 18 inches of snow blanketed every street, alley, and ghetto, calling for a tedious amount of shoveling and plowing to be done.

Santa Claus was probably back at the North Pole, getting blackout drunk on eggnog after a night of rewarding ungrateful privileged children with material wealth, more than likely making Mrs. Claus really think about those divorce papers.

All with the misfortune of having to work on Christmas Day were back at the ER, trying to subdue a deranged homeless man dressed as Santa Claus, who insisted on spreading all of his "joy" to the unlucky children waiting in chairs.

And our very own Rocket Romano had just been awoken. Rather rudely, I may add.

"You can take your lavish Christmas spirit and jam it right up your ass..." Romano growled into the pillow that rest under his head, already feeling the effects of their antics from the previous night. "Wake me up when the time is in the quadruple digits."

"Oh come on, _Robbie_! The sun's already up!" Peter whined from where he was hovering above the bald man on the bed, sitting on his knees, trying to shake him awake. He was already clad in baggy sweatpants and a grey T-shirt, leaving the other man in his boxers. His holiday excitement made Robert want to crush him with the big stupid Christmas tree that sat in his living room.

"Oh, the sun is up? What the hell do you want me to do about it, _photosynthesize?_" He growled back at the man, rolling over so that his back was to him. His usual tactic of trying to ignore the man, pretending he didn't exist.

It never _really_ worked, though.

"It's 8 o'clock! Reese has been up for an hour, we've just been waiting for you to open presents!" Peter tried again, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, bringing his mouth down to his ear to yap in it. Robert still wasn't having any of it.

Peter lay back down on the bed again, spooning Romano, nuzzling his cheek as he pressed kisses against it, still trying to wear him down.

"Come on, Mr. Grinch! I'll make you some cocoa..." he proposed, drawing no reaction from the bald surgeon.

"Go to hell." Robert grumbled, his eyes shut tight against Peter's insistence.

Peter untangled himself from where he was wrapped around the man, hopping off the bed and leaving the room, much to Robert's excitement. '_Finally, the man fucking listens!_'

And all was quiet, and Robert even dozed off not 20 seconds later, happy to snatch another hour or two of sleep before he had to choke down all that horrid Christmas cheer.

Well. That _was _until Peter made his grand reentrance, trudging over to the bed and depositing a very excited Reese on top of the grumpy bald man. The boy hugged Robert's shoulder, finally getting him to open his eyes.

"Okay, _okay_. I'm up..." he announced to the two, finally defeated, rolling over, letting Reese sit on his stomach. He tickled him, causing him to squeal with laughter. His only weakness when it came to his tendency to defy his tall, brawny lover.

"You better have gotten me something good, _Petey_..." Robert snarked, handing the boy to his father so he could retrieve his...well, _Peter's_ black, fluffy robe.

"And last night wasn't enough?" Peter snarked right back as he started downstairs to the living room with Romano hot on his tail.

And with Peter's promise fulfilled, and a large mug of rich, steamy hot cocoa with just a hint of rum, our own balder, shorter, not so malevolent version of The Grinch watched with amusement as Reese tore open each one of his presents in turn, proudly showing them off to Peter, who pretended to be surprised at each toy and book he got from "Santa". He set each and every thing he got in Robert's lap to keep it safe, and then got right on to opening the next one, toddling to and fro.

The taller surgeon stole a few glances every now and then to his cold, wicked boss, who smiled brightly with each gift the boy presented him with, plucking it out of his hands and looking at it with amazement on his face, which was typically overrun with haughtiness and disdain. The sight warmed Peter's heart as he watched Romano with his son. He could yap all he wanted about how kids were the spawn of Satan and that Peter could never expect him to pay any attention to the boy, and that if _anyone happened to find out about any of this he'd take the little guy for ransom, _but deep down, they both knew one thing for certain; Romano was a big old softy when it came to Reese.

"That last one's from me." Robert told Peter as the boy picked up his last gift from under the tree, a blue box with a big red silk bow tied around it to keep it shut. Reese pulled the ribbon loose and opened it immediately, pulling out a shiny gold stethoscope, not unlike the one the shorter surgeon wore around his neck day in and day out.

"You _do _know he's deaf, right?" Peter asked the bald man, grinning at him as Reese tested out his new gadget immediately, crawling into his father's lap and pressing the circular end to his chest.

"Yes, _Petey_. I'm well aware that he's deaf. But all of us have one! I figured he shouldn't be left out," Romano explained, a light blush creeping across his cheeks as his gaze shifted to the various toys in his lap. "I er...got something for you too."

Romano then leaned over slightly, catching Reese's attention from where he was making sure his father's heart was okay. He signed to the boy, who obediently bounded back under the tree, retrieving another little box with a silk red bow on it, planting it into Peter's lap. He then went right back to trying out the apparatus, pressing the round metal end against his father's cheek.

Robert watched intently as the man opened up the box, pulling out a navy blue scrub cap with little gold saxophones printed on it.

"I noticed you never had your own scrub cap. Just those standard blue ones they give out along with your scrubs and gown," Robert explained, his gaze fixed again on the Hot Wheels Ford Mustang in his lap.

"You can just tell people Jackie made it for you...if you want to wear it," Robert's blush darkened as he continued. "You don't have to. Wear it, I mean. I just—" his panicked stammering ceased as Peter shut him up with a soft kiss, setting the cap in his lap to caress his cheek with the one hand that he wasn't using to hold Reese. Robert sighed into the kiss, trying to lean closer to the man as best he could without knocking any of his son's toys off his lap.

"I love it." Peter murmured softly as soon as they pulled away, smiling at the bald man brightly. It was contagious, and Robert soon found himself smiling right back at him. Peter leaned back forward to kiss his dimples, causing his smile to grow even wider as he broke into a fit of giggles.

"I love it almost as much as I love you," the tall surgeon said, causing our little Grinch's heart to swell. "I'm sorry I couldn't get you anything. I spent a while shopping for Reese and I wasn't too sure what you'd like, and before I knew it, it was almost Christmas Eve—"

"Peter, honey, it's fine." Robert interjected, holding the man's hand in both of his own, looking into his deep, tinted eyes. "This is the first Christmas I've spent with someone other than my dog. Believe me, that's enough of a gift on it's own." The big gray behemoth in question had been lounging in front of Peter's roaring fireplace, sleeping away the excitement of having explored a new place as the two made merry on the opposite side of the living room.

Peter kissed Robert's cheek, putting his free arm around him. He leaned his bald head against his shoulder, smiling as his eyes appraised the Christmas tree before them, which was lit up, covered in little rainbow colored lightbulbs and ornaments of every kind. Reese remained in Peter's lap, still enthralled with his new gold stethoscope.

Peter turned his head slightly after a little while of savoring the moment, looking into Robert's coffee colored eyes, his own globes glimmering in a way that made the bald man's heart skip a beat.

"You wanna go out and build a snowman?" He asked, grinning. Robert chuckled, leaning his head back against Peter's.

"I'm serious! Me and Reese do it every year. And we've still got a couple hours before his mother comes to pick him up."

A new thought popped into Robert's head, causing him to get all flustered all over again.

"I can leave in a bit, if you want. I mean, I know your family's coming over soon and..." he trailed off, his gaze fixed at the forgotten pile of torn up wrapping paper on the floor.

"What for?" Peter questioned the man, giving him a squeeze with one arm. "Trust me, Robert. They'll love you. And I only know that because _I _love you. We don't have to tell them anything yet." He assured the man, kissing his head. Robert pondered for a moment, as he did, before answering.

"Alright. But only if you insist. I don't wanna cause any trouble with you."

"You won't cause any trouble Robert! They don't suspect a thing." Peter assured him again. "Except for Jackie. But as long as I do the laundry when I stay over, she's kept her mouth shut."

"So that's all I'm worth to you? A load of dirty laundry?" The bald man snarked again, feigning a hurt look at Benton.

"No, of course not. You're worth way more to me than some clothes, Robert," Benton told him as Reese crawled onto Robert's lap to try and listen to his heart now, pushing his toys out of the way. "But don't let her know that!"

Robert laughed again, shaking his head slightly.

"Well. Now that's settled, how about that snowman?" Benton propositioned again.

"Okay. Just give me a few minutes to get out from under all of _this _and get some more layers on." Romano agreed finally, looking down at Reese, who took up whatever space on his lap that wasn't already occupied with his new toys.

And so out the two heroes of our story went, along with their excited little sidekick, who still insisted on wearing his stethoscope on top of his big puffy jacket and snow pants.

And complete with a snowman that was taller than Robert, and a snowball fight instigated by the bald man who _insisted _he was better at making snowmen than Peter, it's safe to say that everyone in our little story here had a very Merry Christmas.

Oh, except for Kerry Weaver, who got shat on by a homeless man with amebic dysentery dressed as Santa Claus. She lost her prized lab coat, and had to spend two hours borrowing the patient shower room just to get the chunks out of her hair.

But other than that, it was a lovely holiday!  
(Or maybe because of it, if you see it from my point of view)

_to be continued..._


	20. SlowDancingintheDark

***BANGING A POT AND A PAN AGAINST EACH OTHER* CHAPTER 20! GIVE IT UP FOR CHAPTER 20! ALMOST DAY 50 OF QUARANTINE AND WE'VE ALREADY HIT 20 CHAPTERS, GOD HELP US ALL!**

It was a lovely evening in our little Windy City. In fact, it was Valentine's Day. The day where all of America hooks up with their chosen loved one. Whether that be a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a couple of each...Hell, maybe even a SIBLING if you're from the South.

There was still snow on the ground, just like our previous chapter. Not the good kind, though, that only came around Christmas time. It was the wet, heavy kind that combined with garbage and dog shit on the streets, the kind that makes you want to kill yourself if you try and make a snowman with it.

Cupid had been shooting people in the ass with his arrows all day, becoming less and less precise as he upped his whiskey intake the longer that wretched holiday went on.

And just GUESS who he'd decided to shoot on that cold blue Chicago night.

Peter Benton had been caught up in cheap, bland...downright UNBEARABLE small talk with Dr. Cleo Finch for about an hour now. Had the punch in his glass been just a bit more potent, he might have just had the audacity to walk away from her without another word and actually try and enjoy his night.

Seeing as last year's Valentine's Day party ended in a complete and total blood bath, another one was held. This year, though, it'd been held in some cozy little joint about 10 miles away from Hell's Hospital. Any of the County staff who'd been lucky enough to get the night off had ventured to the dark ballroom in some grand hotel, one only the blood sucking succubus Weaver had picked out, all by herself.

It was all complete with a security guard here or there to prevent any unwanted anxiety. Dr. Carter, of course, was off in his own corner, giving his own little soliloquy to Abby between sips of his apple juice, letting his inner demons run wild. He went on and on about how it was days like this when he could still feel the knife in his back, and how he'd eventually let himself be driven to narcotics. Before the party was even over, Abby and him will have already skipped off to do something more fun to get their minds off of that horrible night, like egging Dr. Kovac's house while he was working on taking some chick home at the bar.

Ah, well. That's enough about the Donald Trump of the ER world, minus the blunt racism and rancid cheddar style spray tan. Where were we again?

Ah, yes. The prestigious Dr. Benton was taking in his surroundings. The drinks were pretty decent, for a hotel. The snacks weren't great, but enough to keep the alcohol from hitting you like a school bus. Even the music was pretty good, consisting of all the 80's and 90's hits the tall surgeon couldn't help but hum along to every now and again.

And then there was Cleo.

That damn pediatrician. From the very moment she'd walked up to him, Peter had gotten the feeling that she had feelings for him. And _not _the typical sort of feelings you have towards a colleague. No matter how desperate for a V-Day date someone is, you probably haven't seen _anyone _trying as hard as Cleo had with that man.

It's not like Peter could say anything, either. It really wasn't. What the hell was he gonna do? Take a big swig of his drink, slam it down as hard as he could on the table in front of him _without breaking eye contact _and come right out and say "I'm sorry, Cleo. But recently I've taken to fucking the hell out of Dr. Romano every time I catch a break in my busy life, so I don't think this is going to work. Unless you're particularly interested in being a third voice in our little _discussions?_".

Yeah, that'd go over swell. Real swell.

Speaking of the little bugger...

As Cleo droned on and on about this kid she'd treated the previous week who'd had an entire bag of jellybeans stuffed up his nose, Peter glanced up every now and again from his seat, looking, praying to God, Buddha, Freddie Mercury...oh, you get the point, that he'd be able to pick out that one man from the sea of faces belonging to various people from the hospital staff.

Murphy's law, of course, he managed to see just about anyone BUT Romano throughout the whole damn ballroom, ever since he'd first come in. He'd spotted radiologists, oncologists, various other doctors whose specialty ended in -ist who Benton hadn't talked to in literally _years_, despite working in the same puny little county hospital. On one occasion he even saw Anspaugh, drunkenly dancing with a terrified-looking Dr. Lewis to Africa by Toto, who seemed to want nothing more than to get the FUCK away from him and cower behind Elizabeth for the rest of the night.

A rather colorful scene, yes. But regardless, Peter still couldn't pick out his favorite bald idiot.

"Hey, Peter. Are you with me?" A voice spooked him from his search, and he immediately met the puzzled eyes of the pediatrician.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I was just..." he grappled for an excuse, any excuse, though he didn't know why. It'd be a blessing for this dull conversation to die, to be put out of its misery so he could saunter off to find the real reason why he'd even showed up to this glorified office party in the first place. '_God damn it, he said he'd be here!'_

"I've had a really nice time with you tonight, Peter." Cleo said out of nowhere, leaving her bizarre story unfinished. She place a hand over his own where it rest on the table all of a sudden, taking Peter off guard. He stared at it as if she'd just used it to fish a carrot out of a horny old man back in the ER.

"Uh, yeah. Me too." '_A bag of stale popcorn could be more exciting than the time we've spent together. God, is this woman on crack?!_'

"This party's pretty boring." She piped up again, gazing at Peter as if she was Dr. Weaver and he was the latest hospital gossip. "We should get out of here. Maybe head back to my place."

Just then, Peter's eyes fixed on a lone figure, clad in a tuxedo and a black tie with little pink hearts printed all over it, sitting at his very own table, just over Cleo's shoulder. He was nursing some scotch on the rocks, watching the two intently. His expression was unreadable.

His eyes locked with Peter's as he took another sip of the bitter liquid, looking as if he were about to walk out the door and drown his sorrows somewhere else, somewhere he didn't have to sit and watch this. He of all people should know, there's nothing worse than the sight of your lover with someone else.

Whether it be slightly heated talking or otherwise.

Jealousy brewed in the pit of the bald man's stomach, eating away at him like a burning acid, though he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. Even as Peter's own flicked back to Cleo, who continued to gaze at him with romantic intent.

Cleo began to stroke Peter's knuckles with a light touch, taking his hand in both of hers. "I can make a _mean_ cosmopolitan. I doubt anyone here will know you're missing..."

Contempt filled Peter to the brim then, but he didn't know quite where it came from. The sorrowful look on his forbidden lover's face? The way this woman was coming onto him, so shamelessly and lacking any consideration of the consequences. For God's sake, for all she knew he could have a girlfriend lurking around the place, who'd be utterly heartbroken by the mere thought of their current position.

Or a _boyfriend_.

And it was at that moment that Peter decided he'd had just about enough. Enough of his watered down punch, enough of Tainted Love playing in the background, filling his senses as this pediatrician dared him to betray the one person he knew no matter the circumstances he'd be the one he wanted to see at the end of a long day. And frankly, he had just about enough of Cleo Finch for one night.

Hell, maybe even his whole lifetime.

"I'm sorry, Cleo. But I can't." Peter said simply, looking her straight in the eye. He withdrew his hand with just a little more force than necessary, more than what was needed to get it out of Cleo's gentle, enticing grip.

He rose from his chair and sauntered off, knowing there was only one man he wanted to spend the rest of his night with.

And he found him. Just about 5 feet from walking out the door, his back to Peter in his retreat, his shoulders slumped slightly.

Peter stopped him before he could get any further, taking his hand. Romano whirled around, panic taking over his face as he realized who that hand belonged to.

"Peter. We..." he looked around, appearing almost paranoid. "We shouldn't do this. Not here. Go back to her. I was about to leave anyway."

The taller man gave him a bright smile, squeezing his hand. "Now why would you want to do that? I've been waiting around this crumby ballroom to see you all night, suffering through smalltalk and watching my colleagues drink like fish, and now you're just gonna bail on me? I'll tell you one thing, you make one lousy Prince Charming."

Robert allowed himself a small laugh, turning around fully to look at the man before him, finally able to take in his appearance from closer up. He had on a suit and jacket not unlike the one he'd worn when he took him to dinner all that time ago. He wore a red tie and had on his gold earrings, the small gold rings that'd get in the way of Romano's lips against his earlobe whenever they happened to be alone together.

The bald man was used to seeing him in a suit on what was almost a daily basis. But whenever they were out together, to dinner or otherwise, the sight always hit him in a different way.

Just then, a new song came on. One of those songs you'd expect to be playing at some sappy school dance, one that called for a slow dance between a bunch of hapless teenagers who barely knew _how_ to slow dance yet.

The lyrics to "I Want To Know What Love Is" seemed far away as Robert lost himself in Peter's soft brown eyes, which peered down at him with the usual intensity that made butterflies flutter around in his gut.

"Dr. Romano," Peter began, his voice soft and silky, enough to make Robert shiver. "May I have this dance?"

"Peter, I..." he started, but couldn't find the strength to turn him down. He didn't want to turn him down, either. No matter how much he tried.

And so off they went, to the dark ballroom dance floor. One they both hoped was dark enough to prevent any unwelcome eyes from catching a glimpse of Peter leading Robert by the hand as he sought out the perfect spot for the two of them.

"I'm not quite sure how to do this...what if someone sees?"

"No one's gonna see." Peter whispered in the bald man's ear, reassuring him. "And don't worry, I'll show you how."

He drew the man in closer then, so close that their chests just barely touched. Peter guided Robert's hands to clutch his shoulders. He moved his own to Robert's shoulders, holding him in a loving embrace.

Slowly, they moved. With Peter leading his boss slowly, step by step, the man's warm breath against his neck. No one around them knew better.

Feeling brave all of a sudden, Robert leaned up slightly to give Peter's cheek a soft kiss.

He let his head rest on the taller man's shoulder as they continued, taking in the scent of his cologne. It was something different than usual, something with a little more lime and spice, but he loved it all the same.

As Benton's eyes scanned across the dance floor, once he managed to set a suitable rhythm for the pair, he noticed but one person knew they were there.

And they..._she_, rather, was Cleo.

They locked eyes in that moment, and for a fraction of a second, Peter felt guilty, though he knew he had no reason for it.

It passed like a fleeting shadow in the night, leaving nothing but that same sense of contempt from earlier on in its place.

Fully aware of those watchful eyes, Peter broke his gaze with the pediatrician, leaning down ever so slightly to give Robert's head a kiss from where it was on his shoulder. The man sighed at the contact, relaxing even more into his touch, blissfully unaware of the exchange happening just beyond.

The tall trauma surgeon looked up just quickly enough to see Cleo's retreating figure as she bolted out the door. So much for keeping it on the down low.

And so our two lovers danced, as the voice of Foreigner droned on, locking them in that moment, making everything else in the world seem oh so far away.

_to be continued..._


	21. OfUntimelyDeathandBubbleBaths

**A mix of smut and plot. 50,000 words in already! I have no life. But to be fair, no one has any sort of life anymore with this damn bug spreading around. **

**Ah well, the fuck do y'all care? Here's the next chapter!**

**Refers to episode 8x02, "The Longer You Stay"~**

**(((and yes, part of this chapter ****_was_**** inspired by the bathtub scene from the first fifty shades book, DON'T JUDGE ME)))**

It was yet another chilly evening in the city of Chicago. In fact, today's chapter takes place a small leap from where we left off, bringing us back to yet another Autumn night in the metropolitan area.

The stars glittered over the bustling streets that refused to sleep, even in the dead of night.

The L ran dutifully on its tracks, transporting tens of thousands of miserable cunts to where they needed to go.

Kerry Weaver had just smacked a homeless guy in the shin with her cane for trying to pick a fight with the vending machine in Chairs.

And our very own Robert Romano was in the bathtub, surrounded by puffy white clouds of soapy bubbles that smelled like lilacs. The only light in the room had been the various candles he'd litten up, tying the entire scene together with their soft, moody glow.

He wasn't alone, of course.

"I really appreciate you letting me and Reese spend the night, Robert." Peter said dejectedly from behind him, running his hands gently across Robert's shoulders. The bald man wedged between his legs sighed at the feeling of his warm palms against his freckled skin. He leaned back against Peter's front as he continued.

"My head's still reeling. One minute she was bugging me about who Reese was gonna go trick-or-treating with this year and the next, she was lying in a morgue. My God, what if he'd gotten worse than a simple head lac?" Peter fret, staring at one of Robert's cinnamon bun scented candles with a look of pure anguish. "He could've been lying in that morgue, too, if that car had been going just a bit faster."

"Well Peter, he isn't, now is he?" Robert said shortly, that pit at the bottom of his stomach returning from earlier, when he'd gotten Peter's call. The taller man had been so distraught on the other line he'd actually drawn Brenda to pull the other surgeon out of his laparoscopy. "Last I checked, our little munchkin is snuggled up in the other room with the teddy bear his mother gave him and Gretel passed out in front of his door."

The bald man reached back, taking one of Peter's hands off of his shoulder and in both of his own, stroking his palm in little circles with one of his thumbs.

"I know...I know," Peter said, as if trying to convince himself. He nuzzled the back of Robert's fat head, pressing a kiss into the silky auburn down there. "I just can't help thinking about it. And what about Reese? He's still pretty confused about when Jessie died, never mind his mother. No matter how many times I tried to explain it to him..." the taller man trailed of, letting out a heavy, exasperated sigh, his words falling against the bald man's head.

They were both silent for a moment, not a sound in the room with the exception of a popping bubble here or there.

"I still can't believe my boy is gonna grow up without a mother."

"Peter, we both agreed to meet in this unique setting to _forget _about what happened today." Robert squeezed Peter's hand then, giving his knuckles a soft kiss. "I know it was terrifying...traumatic, really. Trust me, it scared the hell out of me too. I damn near ended up like that cardiologist who had himself a fucking heart attack at _County _of all places." He shuddered at the thought, despite the steamy temperature of the water around the two of them, coupled with the heat radiating from his subordinate, who currently sat wedged between his boss and the far end of the tub.

"We've spent the last several hours worrying about it today, and we're probably gonna spend another several hundred _more _worrying about it later. Whatever happens further down the road, it'll all work out." The bald man said against his knuckles, still stroking his palm. "And I'll make sure of it. Nothing's gonna happened to you or that little rugrat. Not on my watch..."

He placed Peter's hand back down then, leaving it to rest on his abdomen.

"And as long as that little clusterfuck is taken care of for the night, _Dr. Benton_," Romano began again, caressing the inside of the man's wrist from where it lie near his belly. "As your boss, I am politely demanding you to stop wrapping your pretty little head around the latest platter of bullshit that life has decided to serve us and _enjoy_ our little meeting together. Before we have to re-enter the ol' Cook County cesspool. Bright and early, might I add..."

Peter let out a small laugh at that, shaking his head a little. He brought his hand up from Robert's sleek abdomen to stroke his chest. He piped up again finally, the short man's words sinking in like the expensive bath salts Robert had added to their bath, which soaked into his muscles, easing away the day's tension little by little. Slowly, he'd begun to feel less like the world was about to come crashing down on top of him like cheap drywall at any given second.

"I suppose we _are _both quite overdue for a little R&R..." Peter noted softly against the nape of Robert's neck, causing the man to shiver, just like always.

"Yes, we are," Robert purred, his voice dropping down to a sultry tone then, strikingly different from the earnest tone he'd used with the man not long before. "And it just so happens that I could use a big, strong man like yourself to soap me up..."

Peter leaned forward slightly, picking up on the bald man's suggestion. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against his lips before his hand sought out a tall bottle of body wash.

The other surgeon squeezed out a dollop of the slick, lavender scented liquid, spreading it between his hands before they connected once again with Robert's broad shoulders.

The bald man groaned loudly as Benton ran his hands over his shoulder blades, across the small of his back, and eventually to the bottom of his neck, working him into a lather. Romano shut his eyes at the sensation, the feeling of his subordinate expertly massaging the stress from his muscles making his knees weak and his upper half grow slack.

He dissolved in Peter's hands like a heaping spoon of sugar into some smooth, hot coffee on a cold winter's morning.

"So..._Dr. Romano_," Peter began with that low, silky tone that made Robert salivate, murmuring his words right in the bald man's ear. He shivered as Peter's large hands came around to his chest, rubbing the soap into the hard muscle there. "Since you're the one who insisted we meet in this _exclusive _little setting..." he paused in his actions, obtaining another small handful of the body wash.

"How do _you_ suggest we unwind...?" He finished, whispering his last words against Romano's temple. Dread and anxiety soon morphed into excitement, which pooled in the shorter surgeon's gut as it increased with every brush of Peter's hands against his chest. No doubt, his tall, brawny lover could probably feel his racing heart through his bare flesh, giving him some idea of how Robert _really _wanted to relax after such a miserable day.

"Well go on. _Tell me_...I know I'm not usually one to your request your _noble _input, but outside of the OR, I'm much more than willing to hear you out..." he moved his hands away from where he was massaging his pectoral muscles then, moving them lower, _much lower_. He stroked the inside of Romano's pale, freckled thighs then, guiding him to open his legs a bit.

The bald man leaned back against Peter, already feeling the man's unrestrained arousal pressing against his lower back. His subordinate's manhood only fed the fiery sensation brewing between Romano's thighs. It wasn't at its full length yet, he could tell, yet it remained substantial considering how slow they were starting off.

Robert moaned softly as Peter slid his palms closer and closer to his growing erection, but not quite touching it. He tried not to squirm as best he could, afraid that the man would stop.

"Amazing," Peter commented as he cupped Robert's balls with one hand, only making him even less worried about the day's events and more desperate to be touched by the man behind him. "The _noble, all-powerful and all-knowing Rocket Romano_. Reduced to nothing but a few lewd vocalizations..."

"God, Peter..." the bald man groaned as Peter turned his attention to his entrance with his other hand, running his finger over the twitching hole slowly.

"That's a little closer your norm," Benton smirked, murmuring his words against Romano's gingerbread-colored sideburn, the contact causing another wave of ecstasy to hit him as if it were Caitlyn Jenner driving her car and he were some innocent pedestrian. He closed his eyes, taking it all in, the scent of the body wash filling his head to the brim, combined with the faded aroma of Benton's cologne.

"But you still haven't told me..." Benton purred, both of his hands moving to Romano's backside now, caressing it on both sides. Another soft moan escaped the bald man's lips then, one he'd been trying to bite back.

Speaking of biting...

"_It's not like you to be shy, Robert..._" Peter's teeth came down hard on his tender earlobe then, causing Robert to gasp audibly.

"I..." the shorter surgeon was finding it difficult now to string together a few words, let alone a proper sentence as Peter's hands moved back up, running up and down his sides in a gentle caress. "I..." the taller surgeon's erection, now rock-hard as it sat pressed against his hypersensitive skin was making it even harder to think. He settled with his own turbulent stammering, hoping the man behind him would get the hint.

Peter took his hands off him suddenly, much to Robert's despair.

"Dr. Romano," he began again. His tone by itself was almost enough to finish our favorite bald surgeon off right then and there. "I think there's someone else in this tub that could use a big, strong man to soap them up..."

A bit slow on the uptake, Robert eventually moved so that he sat facing Peter in his generously sized bathtub, leaning against the other side, his legs drawn up slightly towards his chest.

Robert drank in the sight of his bare lover, who eyed him as if he were some fat kid and Robert was a double cheeseburger with a side of chili cheese fries. Peter sat back in the shorter man's tub, his arms resting along its rim. His bare chest glistened on account of the steaming hot water he'd been soaking in with his boss, and bubbles surrounded his long, muscular form. The candles around them flickered, bathing the darker surgeon in warm, tinted light.

His eyes moved lower on his body, flicking from his rigid abdomen to his rampant member. It stood above the waterline, resting against his wet abs. The bath water lapped at his hips, bubbles surrounding them in a thin, uneven sheet.

Romano licked his lips at the scene before him before his eyes sought out Peter's own smoky gaze. His honey colored eyes smoldered with raw desire, causing the bald man in front of him to shift in his spot.

"Well, don't just sit there..." he passed Robert the tube of body wash, his voice as rich as a slice of German chocolate cake.

The other surgeon poured a small amount of the slick liquid into one of his own hands, before setting the bottle off to the side again. He lathered the soap between both of them, just as Peter had done before.

He leaned forward so that he was straddling Peter's thighs. Robert's hands met with his sleek, soft skin as he rubbed the fragrant soap into his chest, moving them in small circles that grew larger and larger as he continued.

The taller surgeon sighed, settling his hands on Robert's hips as he lost himself in the feeling of his bald lover's hands on him, gently caressing the expanse of warm, dark skin on his naked body. Those hands moved upward after a while to Peter's shoulders, gently massaging them from the front, causing him to groan.

"God, Robert..." he sighed as the man hit a particularly tense spot, easing away the tightness in it little by little. He pressed a soft kiss to the man's forearm, throwing his head back as his boss turned him into nothing more than a limp noodle of a human being. "Christ. Right there..."

Robert moved his hands lower again, once he'd had his fill with Peter's shoulders. He ran them across his hips, tracing the chiseled, well defined V-line there with his thumbs. Robert's coffee stained orbs then flicked back to his thick, hot length, which lay swollen against his belly, his sensitive pink tip already dripping from his excitement.

Succumbing to temptation, Robert lowered his mouth to Peter's manhood, giving the head a soft, almost chaste kiss. The sudden attention caused the other man's legs to twitch slightly as he took a sharp breath, though he made no effort to stop his boss. He gave it another more lingering kiss to it, licking away the spent that'd coated his lips from the action before wrapping them around the throbbing, aching bundle of nerves, his tongue caressing it. Peter yelled, gripping the sides of the tub until his palms grew sore.

"_Robert_..." he moaned as the man slowly pushed more and more of his turgid length into his mouth, sucking hard. Robert moved his head, up and down, drawing Peter's member in and out of his mouth, occasionally pausing to lap at the tip.

The bald man pulled him out of his mouth all the way, pressing kisses against the delicate underside of Benton's erection. The tall surgeon moaned and writhed at the attention, waves of pleasure wracking him to the core.

"God, you taste so good..." Robert mumbled against him, the vibration from his voice causing Peter's eyes to slam shut for a brief moment. He held the man's hips in both hands as he pulled his head back up, wrapping his lips around him, licking the head as if it were his very own Peter-flavored lollipop.

The room was filled with moans and groans of appreciation as Robert continued, pushing the man's length to the very back of his throat and back up again, until Peter felt like he was going to explode.

"Ah...Robert..." he whined, his voice an octave or two higher than usual. "Don't stop..._please _don't stop!"

Peter's entire form tensed up as he erupted into his boss's mouth, before growing slack again. He took his hands off the side of the bathtub to caress the back of Robert's head as he swallowed every last bit of what he had to offer. He took his mouth away from the man's subdued erection, sitting back to enjoy the fruits of his efforts.

He was rewarded with the sight of Peter Benton, panting and gasping for air, his cheeks flushed and perspiration covering his forehead in a sheen. His half hard member lay curled towards his hip, and his chest rose and fell with each labored breath he took.

"Well that was one hell of a bad day therapy session..." the taller man gasped once he'd caught his breath a bit. Robert leaned in, giving him a soft yet passionate kiss, straddling the man's hips. Peter wrapped his arms around the man as he tasted himself on his lover's lips, pulling him close.

"Only the best for my guy..." Romano purred once they stopped for air, gazing into those lovely dark eyes. He brought his head up slightly, kissing away the beads of sweat on Benton's hot skin.

The taller surgeon brought both his hands up to hold Romano's bald head, running his fingers through the feathery remainder of his hair on the sides and back of it.

"I suppose...after treatment like that," Peter began seductively, his intense gaze penetrating Robert more deeply than his generously sized member ever could. "You're entitled to a little reward. My treat." He finished, giving the man a suggestive smile than made Robert's knees feel like shitty hospital Jello all over again.

And with that, they climbed out of the hot tub, one after the other, allowing it to drain.

Peter wrapped a fluffy gray towel around his short lover, hugging him from behind as he did. He kissed the man's temple before his hand sought out his own, drying off as best he could before the two would inevitably find their way back to each other, kissing passionately, hands wandering, groping, _caressing _as their bodies prepared to become one yet again.

Neither had managed to dry off even half way before they fell back onto Robert's extravagantly large bed, kissing each other hungrily, as if not doing so would cause them terrible physical harm. Their towels lay discarded on the floor by one side of the bed as Peter's mouth met Robert's neck, exploring it ravenously, taking no prisoners.

The man underneath him moaned into the candle-lit room at the feeling of Benton's hot, wet kisses, which trailed all the way down to his chest, stopping at his sternum. The intimate skin on skin contact made Romano feel warm, _real warm_, almost as warm as he had the night he'd been stuck in the hospital with the flu and Benton had refused to leave his side until morning. It'd taken place over a year ago, but he remembered that night as if it were just yesterday.

"Peter, love..." he choked the words out through his various noises of appreciation, which came involuntarily now as Peter's kisses travelled the expanse of his searing porcelain skin. "Feels..._so good._"

Romano's panting only got heavier as Peter kissed his stomach. His tongue circled his navel, tracing it. Those large, yet gentle hands found their way to his heaving chest yet again that night, teasing his hard, sensitive nipples.

Shivers ran up his spine as Peter's mouth ventured lower still, down between his thighs. His hot breath hit his entrance, causing him to gasp, automatically spreading his legs to give the man better access to one of his most delicate spots. He gripped the sheets as Peter ran his tongue over his tight opening before thrusting his tongue inside, pushing it as far as it could go.

Robert held Peter's head, guiding him as he fucked him with his tongue, feeling his muscles tighten and twitch with each time he pushed it in and out of him. He moaned loudly, pulling the man's head closer to him, his stomach feeling hot and tingly with each movement inside of him.

Eventually, he just couldn't bear the feeling any longer. He wanted more, _needed _more than he'd been offered.

Robert pulled Benton's head away, pulling on his shoulder, urging him to cover his naked, perspiring body with his own once more. Their tongues locked into their usual battle against each other as they kissed, stealing the breath from one another's lungs.

"My, my. Aren't we impatient tonight..." Peter teased as soon as they'd pulled away, caressing Robert's cheek with one hand.

Unable to string together the perfect set of words in his head, let alone out loud, that would properly convey what he wanted...no, _needed_ from the other man in that moment, Romano sputtered the only coherent terms he could think of.

"Now, Peter...give it to me..." he whined, aching to be rocked into oblivion by the man on top of him. "_Please_."

The darker of the two surgeons tore himself away for a moment, reaching onto Robert's nightstand, fumbling for the little bottle of personal lubricant he kept there.

For what seemed like _ages, _Peter stroked his recovered erection, covering it in the slick gel, on his knees between Robert's thighs. The sight only made the shorter man hungrier for him, hungrier for the sensation of his entire member to fill him completely, to rock him to his core.

Peter covered Robert with his body once more, allowing himself to glide into the man with ease. His muscles tightened around him, now well accustomed to their inevitable combination occurring on a regular basis.

He held both of Robert's hands upon having entered him completely, lacing their fingers together.

Benton thrust into him, hard and fast, sinking his teeth into that sweet spot between his neck and his shoulder. Robert cried out as his member slid against his prostate at the perfect angle, the sensation intermingling with the delicious stinging pain near his neck. It was so much intimacy, so much raw, intense pleasure, it almost hurt.

Gradually, each bump and jolt against his boss's hips became less coordinated and more frantic as he became desperate, dragging Robert alongside him in his race to their own unique sense of nirvana.

Sharp nails sank into Benton's flesh as they came together. Robert's strangled cry caused his ears to ring. And, frankly, he'd have been happy if that were to be the last thing he'd ever heard again.

He collapsed next to Romano then, still wheezing from his exertions. Peter held his hand tightly, almost as if he were scared he'd let go, as if he'd leave.

He curled up to Romano then, once he'd recovered sufficiently, pulling him close. Burying his head into his shoulder, he lay on his side, taking the bald man in his arms.

For what seemed like the millionth time that evening, Robert grappled for the right words to tell his lover.

He came up empty, though, and only settled for pressing a soft kiss against the side of his head, wrapping his arms around his warm, perspiring body. He held him tight, doing his best to tell the man without a single word that he wasn't going to leave, that he _couldn't _leave. Not now, not _ever._

Peter returned the action with a kiss of his own against the throbbing bite mark in the crook of Robert's shoulder, his lips caressing the bruised skin almost apologetically, as they drifted off in each other's arms.

And at the end of the day, it didn't matter what kind of havoc was released into their lives in the hectic little city of Chicago. It seemed that as long as they had each other, our two surgical heroes could withstand anything.

_to be continued..._


	22. BumpintheNight

**Another short and sweet one! Not smutty like the previous chapter, Just putting that out there for all of you out there who're here for cheap thrills. Still refers back to 8x02 and not too long afterward in case any of y'all are keeping track!**

It was yet another cold Autumn night in the city of Chicago. In fact, our chapter today takes place in the dead of night, sometime around the perfect hour for demon summoning.

The crickets chirped endlessly, filling the frigid outside air with their monotonous song, which droned on for no one to hear this late in the evening.

John Truman Carter the 69th—or _whatever the fuck his full name is_, lay passed out in a gurney somewhere in the ER, exhausted from a long night of sewing people back together and shoving himself elbow-deep into some poor bastard's chest...

Or, more accurately, providing a whole family suffering from food poisoning with rectal compazine and diagnosing various batches of crusty old white men with an even _bigger _variety of disgusting venereal diseases.

And our very own little Robert Romano was sauntering through the hallway of Peter's spacious, not-so-little-abode, half asleep, desperately searching for the taller surgeon's bathroom. To the untrained eye, he looked quite like one of the drunkards that rolled into the ER on an hourly basis as he stumbled though the hall, occasionally throwing a hand out to catch himself before he stumbled, gripping the wall.

Finally reaching his target, he switched on the light in the small room, immediately regretting it as his eyes burned like Luka Kovac's groin after spending yet another night of passion with the wrong hooker.

After his need was met, he washed up quickly, hoping he could get his ass back in bed before the tiredness left his brain. And more importantly, before Peter noticed his disappearance and woke up right along with him at this ungodly hour.

Robert turned the light back out, exiting the room as he did. He started back down the hallway, now in search of Peter's warm bedroom.

He was only focused on the feeling of his own bleary-eyed exhaustion, coupled with the intense craving he'd developed from his short little trip to be back in bed with his dark haired lover. Not 5 minutes had passed before Jack Frost had already begun nipping at his toes quite unpleasantly. In his attempt to slip out without waking the man sleeping beside him, he'd managed to remember to slip on his boxers and robe, but not his socks.

God how he hated the cold.

He froze at the sound of something moving in front of him, somewhere out in the darkness. Fear rose from his chest to the back of his tightened throat as he heard the noisy thing make a small thud, dragging something against the floor with a soft noise.

The frightened bald man leaned against the wall as terror threatened to overcome him. He stared into the darkness with wide eyes, trying to distinguish whether the noise he'd heard was real, or if it were merely a product of his imagination, a figment materialized from his own weary state.

His hand sought out the nearest object, in the hopes that it'd be able to defend him against the potential intruder—a tissue box. Not the most threatening, but it was better than nothing, he thought in his daze.

The bald man began to shake a little as he rounded the corner, holding the tissue box in front of him defensively. The thing made another small thump, causing him to flinch and take a step back before he proceeded, cautiously.

He yelled as a beam of white light hit him directly in the face, dropping his tissue box and falling straight on his ass. He squinted through the light in an attempt to identify the terrifying being that was ravaging Peter's living room.

Low and behold, _it _was only Reese, staring at Robert as if he'd gone insane, before hugging his knee. The light was being produced from a little Batman-themed flashlight that he held in one hand.

Robert clutched his chest with one hand as his heart threatened to break out of it.

Shaking off the fear of this brutal confrontation, Robert signed to the boy, hoping he could see him enough in the pale glow of the flashlight.

'What are you doing up? You scared the crap out of me!'

'I'm looking for Mommy. Have you seen her?' Reese signed back, peering at the bald man through sad eyes. Any annoyance Robert had developed from the boy having scared him shitless dissolved completely, immediately being replaced with a sensation in his chest that was not unlike Dale Edson operating on his heart with his grimy, amateur hands.

He gazed at the distraught kid hopelessly, unsure of what he should tell him.

Figuring that Peter would probably have his ass if he made him cry—and not in the _usual _way Peter had his ass nowadays, Romano took a safer approach.

'Your mother's not here, munchkin. But it's getting pretty late. Do you wanna come sleep in with us?'

Reese looked down at his flashlight and then back at Robert as if he were conflicted by the decision.

Eventually, the boy put his arms out to Robert, wanting to be picked up. The bald man pulled him into his arms, picking them both up and off the floor. He gave Reese's head a soft kiss before starting back towards Peter's room.

He knocked on Peter's door upon his arrival, assuming that if his prolonged absence didn't wake him up on it's own, then his terrified yell upon discovering Reese had probably done the trick.

"Peter! Get decent in there! I brought you a present." Romano announced through the door. Reese leaned his head against his shoulder, tucking it under his chin as they stood outside the room.

Almost as if on cue, Peter threw open the door, clad in navy blue sweats and a T-shirt, squinting at the bald man, who was now bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp that the taller surgeon had switched on.

"Robert, what the hell happened? I heard your yelling! Are you alright?" He questioned, his eyes raking over the rather ludicrous scene before him; his boss in _his _robe, clutching a Batman themed flashlight in one hand with his son half asleep in his arms.

Anybody that worked at County would've paid a small _fortune _to witness this little anomaly in person.

"Your little munchkin here was up looking for his mom." Robert explained tiredly, fully aware of the weight of his statement. "Scared the living hell out of me on my way back from the bathroom. Figured he had another nightmare and brought him here to bunk with us."

Peter let out a small laugh, shaking his head at the thought of his lover being startled so badly by someone so small. He stepped aside, allowing the bald man to enter with Reese in tow.

"That's a pretty manly flashlight you've got there." Peter teased as they clambered back into bed. He tucked Reese in between them before pulling the blankets up to cover all three of them. "You wanna leave it on in case you get ambushed again?"

"Oh stuff it, you!" Robert grumbled back, rolling on his side to face Peter, who mirrored his position, gazing at him with dark chocolate colored eyes that glittered with jeering humor. Reese was curled up between the two, already drifting off, blissfully unaware of his father's viscous assault on the bald man beside him. "Or so help me God, you'll be sleeping on the _floor_ next time we camp out at my place! You and that little hellion of yours..."

"Oh come on, _Robbie_! You know you're bluffing!" He said sweetly, smirking at the man. Robert couldn't help but smile back just as brightly.

The taller man's gaze shifted down to Reese, and then back to Robert as his crooked, toothy smile faded. He gazed into the other man's coffee colored orbs thoughtfully, biting his bottom lip as he did.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Romano asked, curiosity brewing in those lovely dark eyes of his.

"You think he's gonna be okay?" Benton asked the man softly. Robert noticed he had the same type of profound sadness in his eyes as his son when referring to what happened that fateful day. It'd been only 2 weeks, but it felt like years, especially with the amount of nightmares Reese woke up crying from every night, consequently waking the both of them up before long.

And his _stepfather_ had certainly not been helping things. At all.

It'd started off with all the small things. Asking for weekends with the little tyke, to take him to and from daycare every now and again. Maybe even going as far as to having him stay the night during the week once in a blue moon. No matter how pure his intentions, though, Romano still couldn't bring himself to trust the guy. Hell, even before the death of his mother, Reese had spent more time with the bald surgeon than with Roger.

Peter was more understanding, though. He was insistent on just letting Roger spend whatever time he wanted with the boy, figuring he needed more than just a couple of weeks to process everything that'd just happened. He'd never been happy about the thought of _sharing_ custody with his son, Romano knew that much, but ever since that one day, it seemed as if the taller surgeon had been cutting Roger some slack.

Regardless, Robert just still couldn't feel comfortable about the idea. He didn't know _why_ exactly, but he just felt like the man was, for the lack of a better term, _bad news_.

Robert reached his hand over the sleeping boy to hold one of Peter's, squeezing it tightly.

"It's still early, Peter. He needs time to grieve." He stroked the man's knuckles, his soft touch causing Peter to let out a small sigh, his eyes closing as he reveled in the warmth of Robert's palm.

"It'll get better. You'll see." Robert murmured, sleep already threatening to reclaim him in its entirety. His eyelids drooped as he drank in the sight of his worried lover, his features still soft from sleep, his eyes full of questioning and raw emotion with just a hint of sadness.

The bald man leaned over to kiss his cheek lingeringly, before returning to his spot, still clutching Peter's hand like a small child with his favorite toy.

"Of course, it'll also get a lot more complicated, but still better..." he murmured, getting closer and closer to drifting off for the remainder of their night.

It was quiet for a while, a real long while. So long, in fact, that Robert had thought the man in front of him had finally gone to sleep, the thoughts of his son growing up without a mother being washed from his mind like some poor kid's sandcastle by the quickly rising ocean tide.

His voice hit his ears yet again though, his deep tone so soft that he thought he might have been dreaming his next words.

"I love you, Robert." The grip on his hand tightened slightly more.

"I love you more, Peter." Robert sighed, stroking the back of the man's hand with his thumb. "I love you more..."

_to be continued..._


	23. CoffeeBreak

**I don't know about you guys, wherever you are across the world, but I'm on day 6****1 ****and counting of self quarantine! And I've spent the better part of it writing this fic, facing my innermost demons, drowning my sorrows in alcohol and Animal Crossing, and violently lusting after Paul McCrane. I don't even know who I am anymore. **

**This fic went WAY farther than I ever expected it to go. Plot bunnies will be plot bunnies, I suppose. Breeding like the coronavirus in my head. **

**I'm afraid this is the beginning of the end. The fic, not the world. Well, probably the world too. It's broken up into 4 chapters. Not sure how long it'll take me to write each one, but rest assured, I will NOT be ****_that writer_**** that just gets within 4,000 words of revealing how this shit ends and then just dips. **

**Alright. I'll shut my fat mouth now. Enjoy chapter 23!**

It was yet another peaceful morning in the city of Chicago, Illinois.

The sun was just peaking over the horizon, bathing everything its rays hit with soft, yellow tinted light.

The skyscrapers shimmered and gleamed on account of the rising sun before them, blinding anyone who took too long of a look.

Dr. Kovac was just waking up from yet another lousy hookup, slowly realizing that his pants—along with 2 of his credit cards and about 800 of his dollars, was now gone.

And Robert Romano currently sat in the abandoned surgical lounge all by his lonesome, leisurely sipping his third cup of coffee for the day while reading one of his old medical journals. He sighed, turning the page, with only one thing on his incredibly weary mind.

An entire day at Cook County General without a nap longer than 45 minutes and our favorite bald surgeon was beginning to feel as if someone had replaced his brain with a bucket of mud. Truthfully, he wasn't really _reading _any of the text in front of him. He'd read over that same damn journal so many times now that one more attempt would probably cause his eyes to glaze over even if he _hadn't _been in surgery all night.

He'd just plucked the old thing off of the bookshelf in his office to gain himself a distraction from the _real _reason he was in that empty lounge, sucking down that weak caffeinated drink. He didn't give a crap what Sigmund Freud had to say, he just wanted to be home already, in his nice warm bed, in good company with the one man that haunted his thoughts persistently, despite his best efforts _not _to allow it. Just like always.

His eyes raked over the pages, all of the information going in one and straight out the other as he continued to wait for the one other equally as exhausted surgeon he wanted to see.

As his head rose to take another sip of the sweet, heated liquid, the door flew open, and he entered. Those tired eyes explored the lounge, barely processing what they were seeing, until Robert called out to him.

"Over here, jackoff!" Robert exclaimed, slamming the dusty journal shut to be forgotten, along with his coffee. He got up, approaching Peter to where he stood towards the center of the large, dim room. "Finally! You know, for someone so enthusiastic about another one of our little _meetings_, you sure do take your sweet ass time!"

"Oh come on, don't give me that! I got caught up!" Peter whined, taking a few steps forward so that the two were less than a few feet away from each other.

"Anspaugh went on and _on _in the locker room about how unprofessional Dale was, calling him _old man_ in OR. And then he had the audacity to ask how my custody case with Roger is going..." he let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his eyes as if it'd do any good. "Why do I get the feeling that this week is going to be the death of me?"

"I don't know, Peter. But if it _does_ kill you, then it better kill me too! No way in hell am I spending the entire Christmas Eve shift next week with just Anspaugh and Dale the Douchebag!" Robert yapped back, smiling at the man brightly. Peter just looked at him, the usual look glowing in his dulled eyes that came to them whenever he's thought of something crazy.

"What's on your mind now, _Petey? _Or am I gonna have to guess this time?" Robert questioned the man, crossing his arms.

The taller surgeon gazed down at him, taking in his appearance. He'd been worked half to death, and yet, he still looked as lovely as ever. He wore his favored navy blue scrubs, the ones that had his name printed on the chest at one side, and his light blue surgical gown hung from his shoulders. And despite his exhaustion, he still managed to crack a smile up at Peter, one that brought out his dimples and caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle up.

Peter closed any unnecessary distance between them, taking Robert's face in both hands as he leaned down to kiss his cheek. The bald man's smile only widened at that. Peter pulled back only slightly, still holding him there, gazing into those beautiful dark eyes.

"Seeing as we've been together for...a _while_," Benton began, gently stroking Romano's cheeks with his thumbs. "I was wondering if you'd like for us to live together. That way we wouldn't have to spend all this time waiting up for each other and going back and forth every night." He stopped, trying to gauge the shorter surgeon's reaction.

"We don't have to do it all at once," Benton reassured him after a brief pause. "I mean...I could get you a house key, maybe clear out a few drawers and we could just go from there. But only if you want—"

Peter's rambling was stopped in its tracks with a soft kiss. He sighed into it as Romano wrapped his arms around his neck, opening his mouth to him as the kiss deepened.

"Only if I get to bring Gretel." He rasped as soon as the kiss broke, the man leaving him breathless.

"Of course..." Peter murmured, equally as breathless. "Just as long as I get to keep Reese."

Robert's eyes flicked from Peter's eyes, which sparkled like shattered glass from a car window, to his red lips before he closed the distance between their mouths again, kissing him hard. Hands wandered as they usually did, pulling at clothing, settling on the other's shoulders, sides, and even hips at some point.

And before either of our favorite surgeons knew it, they lost themselves once again in each other's company, the rest of the world be damned.

And in the midst of their usual exploration, they must have forgotten where they were and what they were _really _doing, because not too much longer had the kiss deepened, had it been broken again.

The door to the lounge flew open.

"Dr. Benton, I'm glad I caught you, I just wanted to—" Low and behold, it was Donald Anspaugh, barging in on the pair yet again like the fucking Koolaid man. He froze upon seeing our two heroes, dropping the cup of coffee he held in one hand to the floor. His prized "#1 DAD" mug fell and shattered on the floor. Black coffee splattered everywhere.

The two men pulled away from each other, as if badly burned. Quick, but not quick enough.

The old man glared at them with a mixture of shock, awe, and disgust before he turned right on his heels, throwing the door back open and slamming it shut behind him. Through the opaque glass windows of the surgical lounge, he could be seen breaking out in what was almost a _sprint_, as if he were a little boy who'd innocently walked into his grandparents' room, only to get an eyeful of wrinkled skin and cellulite. Kerry Weaver had been less dramatic about finding Lucy and Carter stabbed half to death on the floor of one of her exam rooms.

Romano and Benton were left alone in the room once more, unable to peel their eyes away from that damn door.

_to be continued..._


	24. BreachofPrivacy

**Takes place around 8x10, "I'll Be Home for Christmas"**

Dr. Benton walked through the doors of Cook County General the next morning, feeling as if God would strike him dead at any given moment. No matter where he went, he felt as if people were staring at him. In the parking garage, at the daycare, even in the _fucking _bathroom, he swore he could feel eyes boring into him from all sides.

As if Donald Anspaugh would tell anyone. Without vomiting profusely between the stammered, panicked description of what he'd walked in on, at least.

So they'd been found out. No big deal.

Well, actually, it had to be the biggest deal Peter had ever faced in his entire career, only to be seconded by his current battle with Roger over the custody of his own damn son.

Needless to say, Santa Claus had given him some really shitty gifts that year.

_Merry Fucking Christmas._

They didn't talk about it yesterday. _At all_. Hell, they didn't talk about much of _anything. _It was almost as if they'd witnessed a murder. Neither of them _wanted_ to talk about it, but it was very obviously the elephant in the room. And even talking about anything apart from it seemed _painful_, because no matter what the weather was like or what the other wanted to fetch for breakfast before they inevitably passed out for the day—none of those silly little things could truly distract them from the very serious matter at hand.

Thankfully, the obligation of sleep had taken away any of the awkward, uncomfortable silence between the two. Even Reese could distinguish the thick tension between the two, but even as young as he was, knew not to press either of the two men about what ailed them.

Even in bed, the tension was still there. Even as they lay there, side by side, they just couldn't gather any words, related or _un_related to the morning's incident. It took a good while, a _real _good while until our two troubled heroes drifted off into a dreamless sleep, finally relieving themselves of that mind-numbing exhaustion you only really got from what was, collectively, half a day in surgery.

And even as when they got up to take the evening shift back at Hell's Pass Hospital, that thick tension remained, looming over them like the dark clouds in the sky that indicated that the whole city would probably be dumped with yet another 6 feet of snow before dawn.

It wasn't a big deal. None of this was _ever_ a big deal.

Until now.

And as Peter Benton paced through his daily routine on the surgical floor, making his rounds, operating on some poor schmuck who'd managed to perforate his intestine with nothing more than a Buzz Lightyear action figure, signing off on things that needed his John Hancock—he just couldn't help but feel as if something was...very wrong.

Of course, he already knew what was wrong, what was already on his mind with every step he took, every stitch he sewed, every patient he spoke to. But this feeling delved deeper than what he already _knew _was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it caused a pit to form at the bottom of his stomach and his skin to prickle on his scalp unpleasantly. It was not unlike the feeling he got as soon as he walked into the hospital Reese and Carla had been brought to, before he even knew what happened.

It was like the feeling you get just before a major thunderstorm in the middle of the summer. The sky may look okay, the ground as dry as a saltine cracker, but despite what you saw, you could still feel the pressure changing around you. You could feel it in your skin.

As far as he could tell, word hadn't got out. That, or it had, and the hospital staff had suddenly, _miraculously _become professionals at keeping their gossip on the down low.

And Peter was busy consoling John Carter the 582nd—or whoever the fuck he is, trying to reassure him on the fact that his patient with an inflamed appendix was really a victim of food poisoning from the grungy old barbecue place down the street when his pager went off.

No doubt, it was Robert, telling him that he was due in his office in 5 minutes or less.

He walked away from the bitchy white fuckboy upon reading the page, leaving him to yell after him for a brief period before focusing back on his patient, distressed greatly by the entire exchange.

Of course he had to go up there. Robert was his boss, no matter what happened between the sheets. And as his subordinate, he was obligated to stop whatever the hell he was doing and see that man at the drop of a hat.

Robert hadn't done anything wrong. _Neither _of them had done anything wrong. So why did it feel like they were partners in some sort of heinous crime?

The tall, dark surgeon walked up to that same opaque glass door. It felt just like the first time.

This time, though, he allowed his hand to linger on the cold metal doorknob, as if debating whether or not he should really enter. Whether or not he should just walk away, to continue dodging his lover despite every word that'd been said, every hot, passionate night they'd spent together, every kiss they'd shared.

It all felt surreal, so very arbitrary when it was all laid out in front of him, threatening the very foundation of his life as he knew it.

He found his strength again, though, turning the knob and pushing the door open before Brenda could notice him just standing there, staring at the outside of his lover's door like some idiot. He shut it again upon entering, turning to face the man, swallowing the ever-present dread that ate away at the back of his throat.

"Dr. Benton. I'm glad you could join me," Robert began, being unnecessarily courteous to him right off the bat. "Please, have a seat." He gesticulated towards the overstuffed armchair that sat in front of his desk.

"So it's Dr. Benton now? What happened to Peter, or _Petey_?" Peter questioned, raising an eyebrow. Robert brushed it off, his gaze glued to one of the chairs before him, as if looking straight at the taller surgeon would turn him to stone.

"Why don't you take a seat. Right over there." He repeated once more, his eyes pointed towards the glazed, mahogany colored desk in front of him. Peter sat down, reluctantly, giving Romano a good once over. He was quite pale. _Unusually _pale. The guy was already whiter than WonderBread on his own, but now, he appeared as if he were about to be sick.

Those coffee colored eyes were dark, unreadable really, flicking from the floor, the chairs, his own hands, almost _anywhere _as long as they didn't settle on the other man in the room with him. Such a striking deviation from his norm, and his usual slow, measured observation of his subordinate. Especially when he was in those royal blue scrubs he wore now, the bald man usually could never keep his eyes off of him. It was weird. Unnatural, even.

Something was definitely wrong.

"Alright. Talk to me, Robert. What the hell is this all about?" Peter asked the bald man, looking at him quizzically. At last, Robert brought his eyes to meet his own. His expression was unreadable, though he thought he could detect a general sense of uneasiness within those magnificent features he'd grown to love after so long.

There was a long silence between the two as dark brown eyes searched each other. Then, Romano spoke again.

"I just got out of a meeting with Donald Anspaugh," he hesitated, as if trying to find a way to find to tell Peter what needed to be said in a way that would soften the blow. An oddity for the bald surgeon. "He's been in contact with a Dr. Teal, who deals with all that budgetary crap that needs to be dealt with around here..."

Romano trailed off, shaking his head slightly, his eyes cast back downward, studying the little model rocket that sat on his desk.

Benton leaned forward, rising slightly, taking the side of the man's face in one hand. He tilted his chin up, making him look into his eyes.

"Go on," he murmured as his thumb brushed over Robert's cheek in a gentle caress. The shorter of the two closed his eyes briefly, the contact causing his skin to tingle delightfully, making him forget, if only for a brief moment, the gravity of their current situation.

"Well as it turns out, we're going to have to let you go." His boss said simply, his eyes blackened and grave. "For...budgetary reasons." Even to Robert's ears, the excuse sounded phony. Peter's hand dropped from where it cupped the man's cheek as he leaned backward again, sinking down into the armchair, giving a thousand yard stare to the hard wooden leg of the desk.

Robert continued on, as if it'd ease the shock and awe his lover was feeling in that moment.

"This Dr. Teal. He was insistent that in order to make next year's quota we needed to lay someone off. A surgeon. Specifically...an attending." He sighed, covering his face with both hands.

"That lousy son of a bitch...is firing me?" Peter said, mostly to himself, almost as if the very idea was just too ludicrous to believe without further persuasion.

"I did everything in my power to talk him out of it. I really did. But no matter how hard I tried, there was just no pacifying the bastard." Robert assured him again, holding his own head in both hands.

"I've spent more than 8 years here, Robert. I...my career was practically _born _here." Benton went on, gazing over Robert's shoulder, leaning his head against the hand that was propped up on one arm of the chair from his elbow. "I spent my entire residency here...all my friends are here..."

"He threatened to fire me too if I didn't stop begging for them to keep you. I..." The bald man didn't know exactly what to say, exactly what would make his ex-subordinate feel better about the matter at hand. "I'm really sorry, Peter."

The taller man sat there a moment longer, still gazing out that back window in Robert's office. His eyes were fixed on a telephone pole as his mind raced, flustered from the latest box of bullshit, or in this case, _Donald Anspaugh_, had decided to gift him.

After a long moment of shocked, thoughtful silence, Benton piped back up again, a new idea in mind.

"I think you should come with me."

"What?" After such a long pause, that rich, deep voice sounded almost foreign to Robert's ears.

"You're my boss. And you being in a relationship with me is ground for dismissal. Not for me of course, but you..." He trailed off. "But I'm willing to bet anything I've got left that Anspaugh just wasn't ready to let his prized little Chief of Staff go that easily. So he chose the next best thing."

Benton stood up again, glowering down at the man, who looked at him as if he were proposing to storm the White House and overthrow the president.

"We both know what this is _really _about. And so does Donald. None of us are complete idiots," True, they both knew the actual reason Peter was being laid off, but neither man wanted to say it out loud in the cold, hard light of day. "And I think you should resign. Give the pompous jackass a taste of his own medicine."

"Peter, I—...I can't do that." Romano gazed up at the man, horrified by the mere suggestion.

"Why not? Word's already gonna get out that you've been sleeping with me for God knows how long!" Peter argued in an effort to get through to him. "I've heard you go on and on, day in and day out about how much of a dump this place is!"

"It's a human cesspool, actually." He corrected, looking down. His voice quieted significantly. "_My _human cesspool."

"Cesspool, dump, same thing! And what just happened just goes to show how shifty and low the people around here can really be! This is your chance to get out from under this, _all _of this, before they decide to pull something on you next!"

"And where the hell are we gonna go, Detroit?!" Robert stood up suddenly then, his voice raising slightly from Peter's onslaught. "I can't just pick up and leave, Peter! I put just as much time and effort into this damn job as you have, maybe even more!"

"Oh be realistic, Robert! I've spent at least twice as much time in here as you have! And you saw what they did to me! It's only a matter of time before they up and decide to fuck you too!"

"I'm different! I can't—" Robert paused for a moment when he realized his voice was raised to the point of drawing attention to the pair, putting them in danger of causing a scene. "I can't just leave. I'm Head of Surgery, Chief of Staff, one of the best damn surgeons they've got in this hospital. I help people, people who nobody else can help, and I've been building up that reputation for years! I can't just let it all go, let them run me out of _my _position at the drop of a hat!"

Peter's scowl deepened. He glared at Robert as if he were the sun, his eyes squinted in frustration. Even so, tears threatened to escape from them due to the brash intensity of his words, the carelessness of the point he was so adamantly trying to make. As if the last year or so didn't matter to him at all.

"I care about you Peter. I really do. But I can't just give all of this up for—..._for_-..." he trailed off, allowing his urgent expression to speak for itself.

Peter's eyes finally strayed from his from his lover. He barked out an airy, humorless laugh, shaking his head.

"So that's what this is all about. To hell with everything we've got between us." His voice was almost too quiet to hear, as if he were speaking only to himself, unaware of the blistering presence in the room with him.

"Peter, just listen to me—"

"No, _you_ listen to _me_, Robert!" His voice grew so loud and harsh so abruptly that the man in front of him flinched hard, backing up a step purely out of instinct.

"I put _everything _on the line to be with you. Every. Damn. Important thing. My job, the way my family sees me, the way all of my _friends _see me. I don't even know how they'd react if I just came out and told them. But you know what I did?" Peter stepped closer to the desk, staring Robert down as he spoke. "I swallowed every ounce of doubt I had about us. And at that point, none of it really mattered anyway..."

He fell silent for a moment, gazing at the man with that raw emotion in his smoldering dark eyes.

"As long as I loved you, _none _of that mattered to me. None of that scared me anymore. Because as long as we were both together..." he stopped again, for fear that he'd say too much, that it would _all_ be too much, and this would end with him sobbing on the floor of his ex-boss's office.

"Come with me. Let your past die. We can start fresh somewhere. I don't know where, but _some_where, somewhere better. Somewhere nice and far away from this dump." Benton implored finally, with his words, his eyes, every fiber of his being for the man to just throw his pride to the wind and leave with him, like two runaway kids with nowhere to go, no home except for the one they had within each other.

Robert looked as if he were at a loss. Torn between the man he loved, and the job he loved. And of course, his pride, his ego; both of which were screaming at him not to let those administrative bastards run him out of the hospital this easily.

All because he fell in love with Peter _fucking _Benton.

When it came back to him, his voice was nearly at a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Peter." Robert said so softly one had to strain to hear. "I just...can't. I can't give this up. It'd be exactly what they want..." followed by another soft apology as a silent tear rolled down his cheek to fall off of his chin.

Shameless begging soon turned to anger as Peter shook his head, as if in complete and total disbelief over the shorter man's answer.

"Fine. I'm out of here."

"Peter, wait—"

The taller man had his hand on the doorknob, about to leave before he whirled around to face his ex-boss.

"Someday you're going to realize that life is worth a little more than just some high-end position at the top of some shitty hospital. Eventually, you're gonna get knocked right back down to the bottom, all of that time and effort be damned." Peter told the man, even, calm, and colder than the snow that lie on the ground outside. "They're gonna shove you down every hole they can possibly fit you down, Romano, and then they're gonna spit in those holes. Either that, or this place will just kill you." Which fate was worse?

He raked his eyes over the bald surgeon as he'd done since the very beginning, slowly. Almost as if it'd be the last time he ever did so again. Tears were falling freely from Robert's eyes now as he was unable to find a way, _any _way he could keep both the man that he'd jump in front of a truck for, and the job he'd wanted ever since he was but a lowly medical student.

"Have a nice life, Robert."

And with that, he walked out, leaving Robert alone in his office once more.

_to be continued..._


	25. WhatJustHappened?

**I'm sorry.**

He knew he'd fucked up.

Robert Romano had spent his entire day doing one of either two things; trying to get ahold of Peter, or working, trying to ignore the sick feeling that had embedded itself deeply into his gut, festering like an open wound.

He hadn't caught a wink of sleep the night before. No matter how hard he tried, sipping some whiskey, hugging a very annoyed Gretel, who'd had just about enough of his tossing and turning for one night by around 2, moving to sleep on the floor by the bed—even ducking out into the cold for a quick walk down his dark, empty street to try and clear his head, along with his heart, which felt like it'd had the wind squeezed out of it by some fat Mexican wrestler. And that wrestler had NOT clipped his fingernails.

And of course, he tried calling Peter. Several times, in fact. And when that didn't work, he tried emailing him. Then paging him, several times over. Hell, he even tried faxing him a couple of times. And he would have called 911 to give him a damn wellness check _just _to get ahold of him, but he figured that would probably earn him a pretty hefty fine for the misuse of emergency services to try and smooth things out with his boyfriend.

It was all no use though. He gave up around 5:30, accepting the fact that he'd just have to plow through work with a little extra coffee today. Whatever time he didn't use early that morning still trying to call Peter was spent sitting in his dark lounge, his eyes glued to his television screen, attempting to sit through whatever stupid infomercials happened to be on at that ungodly hour.

But he really couldn't get into whatever _whatshisface _was saying about some generic made-in-China product that probably only gets used once after it's delivered, and then is doomed to spend its life stuffed away in some dusty storage space somewhere. All he really wanted in that moment was Peter to be right on that couch with him, holding him, pressing soft kisses on his cheek or temple or at the top of his bald head, commenting on just how idiotic and pointless some of those As Seen On TV products really were, inevitably giving him a laugh or two.

But the truth is, he couldn't have Peter. Not in that moment—or for all he knew, never again. So, he got the next best thing.

A non-stick waffle maker. WITH a free recipe book.

And an oven mitt.

Robert must have managed to pass out at some point while Billy Mays was going on and ON about something, because before he knew it, Gretel was bombarding him with kisses, assaulting him with her big wet nose against his neck, her usual way of demanding food at exactly 7 a.m.. Naturally, it was a routine they were used to after about half a decade, emotionally devastating split-ups be damned.

Despite this wake up call, he still rolled into work a whole 20 minutes late. But of course, that could slide with ease, considering his position as Chief of Staff and Head of Surgery.

A fat lot that mattered now.

He should have seen it coming. _Stevie Wonder_ could have seen it coming. It'd only been a matter of time until he fucked things up, curb stomped them into the ground—and for _what?_

Some exclusive position in the hospital that let him steal surgeries and immediately earned him the more expensive rooms whenever he got stuck there with the flu? Access to the good coffee in the break room? The rest of it was just hours of paperwork that made his mind go numb and his eyes dull after the first thirty minutes of it.

He realized now that he'd give it all up for that man. He'd skip town and move to New Zealand to raise sheep if it meant he could be with him. Not whatever the hell _this _was, this lack of communication, this cruel uncertainty mixed with nothing but heartbreak and suffering.

He'd leave it all for him. Right now, in fact. Robert would have barged right in to Anspaugh's office just to tell him that he could find himself a new Chief of Staff and cram his regards straight up his ass. Maybe even chuck one of his 7 cups of coffee for the day right in his face for how he fucked Peter the previous day.

But who's to say Peter would even want him back after their big disagreement yesterday? Robert had practically told the man that he was nothing compared to his lousy administrative position, in so many words. That he was too much of a coward, afraid of looking like he was running away from a fight after higher administration had given him the axe, more than likely expecting Robert to be driven out by the action as well.

But that's not true. That's not true at all, he wanted to scream at the man now. Peter Benton was worth way more than some dumb position, at _County _no less. He saw that now. It took just one sleepless, torturous night, but it was all so clear to him now.

For once in his life, he found something apart from surgery that really got his heart racing, something that made him want to wake up the next morning. And in that moment, he was so close to letting that thing go, like a careless child with a balloon.

He sighed, pausing in his internal revelation to take a sip of his hot tea. It was much later now, and if he couldn't get ahold of his lover, Romano was looking forward to nothing more than a hot shower and a good 16 hours in which he was dead to the world, passed out in his king sized bed with his dog. His head had been pounding throughout the length of the day, demanding sleep and a meal that wasn't coffee or M&M's, contradicting his stomach, which felt as if it'd been used as Satan's personal come rag.

He turned his wrist, rolling up his sleeve to give a glance to his Rolex. It read 7:45 p.m.

Robert stood up then, stretching, with every intent of making a quick pit stop to his office before he clocked out for the day. He had the day off tomorrow, the last one before the big Christmas shift, and he was planning to savor it to the best of his abilities.

He opened the door to his outer office, already able to feel the hot water of his shower pelting his freckled skin. He ventured towards his inner office to grab his shit and leave.

"Oh, Dr. Romano! I'm glad I caught you." Brenda said from where she was gathering her own things, also preparing to leave for the night. "Dr. Benton stopped by about 20 minutes ago. Said he had some things to give you. I think he left them in your office..." Of course, his assistant wasn't deaf, and probably knew damn well what had happened between the two of them not 36 hours prior.

Robert fixed her with a surprised look. He merely nodded to her in acknowledgment, wordlessly entering the room and shutting the door behind him. His tired, glassy eyes searched the room before they fell at last on a decent sized card board box. It was closed using only the flaps on all four sides at the top of it.

His heart sank in his chest as his mind, slow on the uptake on account of his own exhaustion, already able to decipher the contents without even opening it. _'Oh. So he honored _**_that _**_old cliché' _

He sat on the floor in front of the box, tugging the flaps apart, opening the dreadful thing slowly, as if something would jump out at him and bite him right on the nose.

Just as he expected, those anticipated items were in there, the ones that were always sent back after a bad breakup. Robert's toothbrush, a couple pairs of his boxers and sweatpants, a shirt or two, and one of his watches. He noticed that his favorite sweatshirt was missing from the bunch, though. The one he'd snagged for 10 bucks at a thrift shop. It was a light gray hue, with "HARVARD" printed high up across the chest in bold red letters, had a hood, and was at least 3 sizes too big for the bald man.

Peter had always poked fun at his tendency to sleep in it whenever he stayed over, and had blatantly stolen it after long, always saying he'd give it back the next time Robert stayed over. He was always bluffing, though, and even had the nerve to wear the thing in to work on a few mornings.

Of course, Robert never really did mind. Or care to admit that the old, threadbare thing looked better on Peter than on him, any day of the week.

As he sifted through the last of it, though, he noticed something else at the bottom of the box, something that wasn't his. Or wasn't _supposed _to be his, anyway.

He held the navy blue scrub cap in both hands.

Those little golden saxophones looked like big blurry smudges as tears welled up in his eyes, clouding his vision greatly.

Our well known surgical hero, Robert Romano, held the fabric of the scrub cap belonging to our other well know surgical hero, Peter Benton so tightly that his knuckles whitened.

His heart clenched painfully as he began to cry, falling apart completely in the same room where it all began.

_to be continued..._


	26. AndintheEnd

**Alternate Chapter Title: But WAIT, THERE'S MORE**

**Takes place late in the night of season 10, episode 7; Death and Taxes**

**The beginning of this chapter has since prompted me to add a couple of trigger warnings. I would skip the first 800-1200 words, or just wait for the epilogue if I knew I got triggered by the following things: depression, alcoholism, suicidal thoughts****.**

**There's a happy ending to this one I ****_SWEAR_****. My author's note makes it sound so much darker than it actually is, but hey, you never know how people take things, and I don't wanna inflict people with internal suffering without at least an advisory. **

**Okay, I'll shut up. Now go see how this dumb thing ends!**

It was a dark, fateful Wednesday night in Chicago, quite a leap from where we last left off. About a two year leap, in fact. And a lot has happened with our two well known surgical heroes since they've separated.

The moon was shining almost as bright as the sun had that day, illuminating everything its pale light touched, casting shadows on the empty street in the shape of various trees and buildings that littered the area.

The gangbangers were out, capping each other in the ass, filling the rougher sides of the city with the sound of gunshots and yelling, waking up everyone who slept in the homes that lie within a one block radius.

And our beloved, well-known surgical...ER Chief, Robert Romano, was sitting in his dark lounge, sipping his third, generously filled glass of Scotch for the night. All of the lights were out, leaving everything within the mostly vacant room to be bathed in the silver moonlight from outside. The rays hit Robert's big bald head from where he was sitting in an overstuffed armchair, not unlike the one in his..._Dr. Weaver's _office, making it gleam like a beacon.

His fat head glowed brighter than his coffee colored eyes, though, as he gazed out the window of his big empty house, taking a big sip of the strong, caramel hued liquid.

Today, like all days in the depths of the ER, had been over 12 hours of absolute hell. Why the hell did he even bother anymore? Nothing had been the same after that conning, conniving bitch Kerry snagged his job as Chief of Staff. The absolute nerve of that lout Anspaugh to suggest sharing the position with her. He may not be able to perform surgery, but he could _still _manage the administrative part of his job! And when he refused to split the position with the Wicked Witch of the West, what did he do?

He shoved the entire position into Weaver the Beaver Eater's bony little hands, _that's _what he did.

And after having been thrown into the deep end with emergency medicine, something he had about as much experience with as fucking pole dancing—he just didn't feel like anything was fucking worth it anymore.

He put everything into his career. Every damn important little thing he threw out the window for that dumb job. All for it to be taken away by some loud, mechanical monstrosity and a dropped clip board.

He took another long sip of his whiskey. It's all fucked now. Fucked into oblivion. Everything he's ever worked for. Unless technology _just so happens_ to leap ahead 40 or 50 years, or the thing just grows back on its own, his career is as good as over. It's fucked. He's _fucked_.

He should just leave. Him and that whole God forsaken hospital would be better off for it. But he just couldn't give them all the satisfaction of knowing that they _finally_ broke him down, that he'd _finally _had enough. Not now, not after this long.

He's got nothing. He's got _no one_. At this point, he was wondering if _anything_ was worth it, County and beyond. His mind drifted back to that one day, way back when...

He'd had his chance to leave then, while he still had his dignity. He _should _have left with him, everything else be damned. He wanted to go back in time, find his old self, shove him against the wall and _scream _at him to join the man he loved in fleeing County. He'd throw his bleak future up in that pompous two-armed idiot's face until he dry heaved, and then some.

If he just went with him, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't be sitting here, drinking himself sick in a big house all alone. He'd still be whole. He'd still be _happy._

And he'd had one shot, _maybe _at being truly happy, and he blew it. All for what? _The same damn job that'd be ripped away from him not 2 years later_. That's what. He emptied his glass, refilling it immediately, and taking another swig.

Wouldn't they just _love _that. The _almighty and all powerful Robert Romano_, pushed over the edge by a demotion and a missing arm. They'd probably give him some phony memorial service, someone would deliver some _phony_ speech about how much they'd all miss him whether they realized it or not, they'd all eat themselves sick on snacks at the reception and that would be the end of it. Maybe some crocodile tears here and there. But after that, everyone would go right on their merry way as if nothing happened. Hell, they would probably be _happier_.

Robert took another swig if his whiskey. After this much contemplation, he was beginning to think that himself and everyone around him would be better off if he was dead.

It wouldn't be hard. He was a doctor, it'd be pretty hard to screw it up. Hell, it might just be the _one single thing _he couldn't botch nowadays. How easy would it be just to get ahold of a real sharp scalpel, or some real strong pills. It would all be over in 20 minutes or less.

All of _this _would finally be over.

Something drew him out of these madness inducing thoughts. Something that had probably shaken him out of running to where he kept his good steak knives and ending it all right then and there.

His head was foggy, and it took a minute to register that it was coming from his front door. '_Who the fuck could that be at this ungodly hour?!_'

He glanced at his Rolex. It was almost half past midnight.

He trudged to the door, ready to tear the eye sockets out of whoever would dare to drag him away from his efforts to get completely shitfaced before daylight.

"What the _fuck—" _His heart sank as he threw the door open, his anger instantly turning to a mix of shock and confusion. He held onto his doorframe, legs threatening to give way between the alcohol in his system and the man on his doorstep.

"My, my. Dr. Romano. What have they done to you..." our other well-known, beloved surgical hero Peter Benton drawled, taking in Robert's current state with soft eyes. The bald man was still wearing his work clothes, his shirt unbuttoned, his undershirt peeking out from between both sides of it, and his tie was hanging loose around his neck.

His prosthetic had been taken off for the night, and left in his living room, forgotten as he wallowed in self pity. His left sleeve hung limp from his shoulder, and he'd managed to grow a scruffy gray and auburn beard in Peter's absence.

"Peter..." Robert murmured, the name foreign to his lips after so long. "What are you doing here?"

"I've heard some rumors. Viscous ones, as a matter of fact. Thought I'd come and see you for myself." He explained to the bewildered man in front of him. Robert stared at him with wide eyes, then looked down.

"Well, now you've seen me. And now that you've seen me, you know that they're all true. Congratulations Peter, you've got that all figured out. What do ya want, a freaking medal?" He said softly, the words sounding oh so familiar to both men's ears.

Peter stepped forward slightly, reaching out his hand slowly, as if Romano would startle if he made a move to sudden. His hand made contact with his bearded cheek in a gentle caress.

Robert leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed as Benton stroked his cheek with his thumb.

"Can I come in?" He asked, voice almost too soft for Romano to hear. The other man nodded his head against his hand. Reluctantly, Peter pulled his hand away as Romano stepped out of the way so he could enter.

Robert led him into the dark lounge, sitting back down in the overstuffed chair. Peter sat on the couch across from him, promptly noting the half-gone bottle of scotch whiskey on his coffee table, and the almost empty glass that sat beside it.

"You been eating anything with that?" He chastised lightly.

"The hell do you care?" Robert growled. Peter sighed. Two years apart, and the man still sounded the same, despite so much obvious change within. "How much did you hear? About me?"

"A lot. Some of it was pretty ridiculous. You're Chief of the ER now?"

"I'm lucky they didn't give me the _honorable _position of desk clerk." Robert sighed, gaze fixed at his hand. "They made Weaver Chief of Staff, and me, Lord of the Flies. I've been knocked all the way back down to the bottom of the food chain, _just like you said._" He took another swig of his whiskey, the last one of that belt, before pouring a fresh glass for himself. Peter eyed him the entire time, disapproving, yet remaining quiet about it, not wanting to upset the man after only a little bit.

Once he had his fill, having taken another lengthy sip of the whiskey in that fresh glass, Romano piped up again.

"Frankly, I'm shocked, Peter. We've already spent 4 or 5 whole minutes together and you haven't so much as breathed an _I told you so._"

Peter barked out a humorless laugh. "I expected you to get butted out by some other hot headed, arrogant bastard much like yourself. Either that, or just get sick of County's shit in General and burn out. But _this_?"

"What you're saying is that you didn't expect to find a one-armed gimp in the place of the prestigious surgeon I _was. _Let's be honest here, Peter." He deadpanned, his dark eyes full of some unidentifiable emotion Peter had never seen in him before. He was different from when he left him. He seemed broken, disheartened, kicked down by recent events and when he'd tried to get up, he was kicked even harder. He looked utterly exhausted, like a completely different man than the haughty, arrogant bastard that always made sure that what he lacked in height was made up for with his big mouth and his animated mannerisms.

Peter's heart broke in his chest as he continued.

"You're just lucky that you left before all of _this _happened. Trust me Peter, you wouldn't want me anymore. I'm worthless." He said miserably. Then he took another swig of his drink, letting the alcohol burn his throat. Ironically, it seemed to have a sobering effect on him, he thought. The burning pain was enough to push through the everlasting sense of numbness and misery he felt on a nightly basis, making him perceive something real.

"You're not _worthless_, Robert. Not even a little bit."

"Oh yeah? Try telling that to Anspaugh, or Weaver—or how 'bout the entire hospital staff at this point!" His voice raised a bit, pain contorting his features as he tried to make his point with his past lover, who currently sat, staring at him as if he'd been struck.

"If you're _really _as smart and as you think you are then you'll see me for who I really am now." Robert continued more softly, holding his glass, preparing to down the rest of the harsh liquid all in one gulp, which would almost immediately be replaced by a fresh belt. "A washed up, good for nothing misery medic with nothing to his name but the smoldering remains of his career."

"You're _not _any of those things, Robert! And for God's sake, quit drinking that!" Peter had closed most of the distance between them to pull the cocktail glass from Robert's grasp, whiskey spilling onto his hand as he forced the opposing thing out of his grip and slammed it on the table.

Robert merely scowled at him, but said nothing. His eyes shifted down to the empty hand that now moved to his lap.

Benton wiped his wet hand on his blue jeans, kneeling down in front of the man, putting one hand on his knee while the other moved to one side of his jaw, making Robert look at him. The bald man resisted at first, but Benton's grip soon became more firm, causing him to relent at once.

Peter looked deep into those dark, almost black eyes. So beautiful. So _sad. _They made his chest ache the longer he allowed himself to lose himself in those eyes, until his breath hitched in his throat. His voice returned to him once again, calmer, quieter, in the form of an almost whisper choked with his own emotion.

"I don't care what you think, Robert. You could _never_ be worthless. Not to me." Benton paused for a moment, attempting to swallow back the soreness in his throat that had managed to make its way up from his broken heart. "You're one of the most amazing men I've ever met. Demotions and helicopters be damned." He said earnestly.

His voice dropped down even quieter as he caressed Robert's jaw, his fingers playing with the wiry gray and auburn down there.

"You know...even after our disagreement...and then my decision for us to stop having _discussions_ with each other..._I have never stopped loving you_."

Tears welled up in Romano's eyes, threatening to fall. He shot up from where he was sitting, as if coming to his senses about exactly where he was and who he was talking too. He walked slowly away from Peter, his back to him.

"_You should go." _He said, his voice shaky. "You can't possibly _want _this! Not now!"

Benton came closer to him, hugging him from behind. Robert shook him off, turning around, his wet, narrowed eyes enough to pierce Benton's soul.

"Don't touch me! Just get out of here! Just burn your bridge with me like everyone else has. All I've done is ruin everything around me, so just—...just get the _fuck_ away before I ruin you too!" He sobbed, tears falling freely, trailing down his cheeks and off his chin. He trembled uncontrollably. The sight earned Peter another sharp pang in his chest as his heart broke even more.

"With all due respect, Dr. Romano, you've got no idea what I want," Benton said, getting much closer to the man, grabbing him by the shoulders, drawing him closer despite his struggling. Eventually Robert gave up, letting Peter wrap him in a warm, tight hug. It'd been the closest anyone had been willing to get to him since before his accident.

"I'm not leaving. I wouldn't do that." The taller man murmured into his ear as Robert wrapped his arm around him, gripping at the fabric of his sweatshirt like a lifeline. "Not now. _Not again._"

Robert buried his face into the crook of Peter's neck, sobs wracking his body. Peter only squeezed him tighter, rubbing between his shoulder blades in slow, lazy circles. He whispered soft reassurances into Romano's ear as he fell apart in his arms.

"It's okay. I've got you. You're alright." He whispered, as if his heart had been torn out of his chest by a fucking gorilla. He kissed the side of his head as tears sprang to his own eyes at the sound of Robert's muffled sobs. "I love you...I won't leave you. _Never again._"

It took a while for the bald man's tears to slow, but once they did, Peter pulled away slightly to look at him. He ran his hand through the soft hair on the side of Robert's head, looking into his eyes. He tried to think of something, _anything_ else to say, but with Romano's wet, intense eyes boring into his own, it was difficult, so he did the one thing he could think of.

He kissed him. Hard. Peter thrust his tongue into his mouth, tasting the whiskey on his lips. Romano gripped the side of Peter's sweatshirt, holding the fabric tight in his fist. The other man untucked his undershirt from his slacks, pushing his hands underneath, running his hands over the wide expanse of warm, freckled skin on his back. His hands wandered from his lower waist to his abdomen, all the way up to his chest, tongues still locked in their intricate dance.

Romano flinched hard as Benton's hand brushed his left shoulder, breaking the kiss. He looked at him, those dreadful tears threatening to return to his dark eyes.

"It's okay..." Peter whispered, bringing his mouth down to his ear. He nipped at Robert's tender earlobe, drawing a soft gasp from him. He clutched Peter's broad shoulders as the taller man lost himself in the task of reacquainting himself with the man's body, trailing kisses from the start of his jaw down to his chin. Then Peter moved to his neck, working his way to all of the sensitive spots he still remembered after so long.

Robert moaned as his lost lover held his head in one large, yet surprisingly delicate hand as he sucked against a specific spot on his neck, working on leaving his mark on the bald doctor.

He had to admit, he'd missed this. All of _this_. His gentle touch, his lips against his skin, the way he always took his time, drawing every ounce of pleasure he could from him, leaving him breathless and oh so satisfied. The taller man elicited indescribable feelings from him in that room, just like he had the first time, giving him that warm, tingly feeling all over again. Peter continued with rapid succession, moving to the other side of his neck now, caressing with his lips, leaving not one bit of bare, freckled skin untouched.

"_Peter..._" He moaned for the first time in what seemed like _decades_ as Peter's kisses intensified. "We should take this upstairs. I don't wanna scar Gretel for life."

Peter reluctantly tore his mouth away from Romano's neck to pay a glance to the behemoth of a dog lying in the far end of the room, snoring away.

"Yeah...yeah, I suppose you're right." Peter panted, a little out of breath, obviously not wanting there to be a pause in the exploration of his ex-boss's neck. "God, she's still alive?"

"Of course she's _still alive_, Peter! You haven't been gone _that _long!" Romano griped, giving the man a grumpy look, though he was almost equally as breathless. He took Peter's hand without any further delay, leading the the tall surgeon to his spacious bedroom, where they'd spent so many passionate nights together, long ago.

And they barely made it 6 feet into the room before Peter was on him again like an aggravated lady named Karen on some poor Red Lobster employee who forgot to serve her extra garlic butter with her biscuits and crab legs. Slowly, deliberately, the taller man peeled the soft fabric of Robert's button-down shirt from his shoulders, pressing kisses to every little bit of skin that got exposed from the action.

Peter was but one flick of the hand from pulling the garment off of him completely when Robert stopped him, tensing up slightly in his arms. The only hand he had left held onto one of Peter's tightly, the one that clutched the fabric just _barely_ covering his left shoulder. His tall, brawny lover pulled away from where he was tasting the dip at the base of his throat to meet Robert's worried gaze, one that was ridden with anguish and a touch of self consciousness.

"Peter..." The bald man whispered softly, knowing his companion could already sense the root of his sudden interruption.

"It's okay," Peter murmured, pressing a soft, loving kiss to one of Robert's whiskered cheeks. Gently, he pulled against the man's grip until his shoulders were exposed, leaving only his light gray undershirt to cover his top half. He tossed the garment off to one side for it to be forgotten as he drank in the appearance of his former boss, and reclaimed lover.

Peter brushed a hand over the stump where Robert's left arm used to be, caressing his cheek with his other hand. Robert gazed deep into those cocoa colored eyes, the ones he'd longed for since the day they'd split up, searching for the same feelings he usually seemed to elicit from people these days. Contempt, disdain, shameless pity. It was what he was used to.

But as foreign as the sight was to him by now, all he could find within the lovely dark eyes of his former subordinate was that same old love, mixed with raw, unadulterated desire. It was the one sight he'd been waiting to see ever since that sleepless night way back when, and every lonely night to follow. It was enough to make Romano want to leave his wife and kids, and he wasn't even married.

He looked away, his eyes flicking to the stitching in Peter's worn old sweatshirt, afraid that looking into those eyes for any longer would just make him do something stupid, like cry.

Peter drew him in for the second time that night, pausing from his current task of undressing the man to just hold him. He nuzzled the top of his big bald head, rubbing slow, comforting circles between his shoulder blades.

"You look just fine without it, love..." Benton murmured against the top of his head, pressing another soft kiss against it. Robert just burrowed his head into the crook of his neck, taking in the sweet, musky scent of his cologne. He still smelled the same, even after so long. The bald man pulled himself even closer to the man, hugging him tightly, trying to take in more of the intoxicating aroma.

Peter brought a hand up to caress the back of Romano's head, playing with the soft auburn down there. "You're just as beautiful as the day I left you. Some freak helicopter accident could never change the way I feel about you."

They pulled away after a little while. Slowly, but surely, they found their way around each other, as old lovers do. And for the first time in a very, _very _long time, our beloved ex-surgical hero, Robert Romano felt alive again. With every delicate touch, every loving kiss, every jolt of Peter's hips—he finally felt as if something mattered. The certain sense of dread and misery that loomed over him on a daily basis like a big black cloud melted away, and by the end of it, he was left feeling whole again.

"Come with me."

They had just come apart when Peter had said it, with blood roaring in their ears as they shook from their exertions, and the sweet agony of their passionate lovemaking. The words had barely even registered in Romano's head. He couldn't register much at all in fact, apart from the feeling of Peter's hand gripping his own tightly, and the scorching heat that radiated from their bare skin.

They were both still panting, and the taller man's plea had come out so quietly that Romano had almost brushed it off as a dream.

"What?"

He repeated himself, slowly, fully aware of the conflict that very question had caused not all that long ago. "Come with me, Robert. To Northwestern."

"Peter, I can't..."

"You _can_. You can't operate anymore. They lost the best damn surgeon they ever had in that hospital, whether they realize it or not, and now they're treating him like a used condom." He said, pleading with him. "I can get you a spot."

"It'll just give them the satisfaction of knowing they got to me. I'm just gonna be the sad, one armed old man that got what he deserved for terrorizing them. Hell, I'm pretty sure if I died tomorrow in some freak accident they'd celebrate." Robert explained miserably. "This job's all I've got. And there's no way I'm letting those fucking assholes in administration butt me out of the hospital just like that, just because they thought _'Hey, one of our best surgeon__s__ just got his fucking arm sliced off after years of service, let's just demote him and chuck him in a dumpster like yesterday's tuna casserole._' After all they put me through...after all they put _us _through—_I just can't let them win_."

The man beside him reached out with his other hand all of a sudden, holding Robert's jaw, making him look directly into his smoldering dark eyes.

"Robert, love, I'm saying this from the bottom of my heart to you," Peter began. The bald doctor merely gazed back at him in acknowledgment, awaiting what he had to say.

"_Fuck them. _Fuck them all. You're absolutely miserable there, Robert. I can see it in your eyes. The day I left you, there was still spirit in you, man. And from what I can see they've beat that spirit out of you. Who says a month from now they're not gonna go and demote you again, just to spite you?"

Peter continued, an unknown hatred he had towards County suddenly rearing its ugly head at him, making his words sound almost bitter, despite the softness of his gaze into his lover's eyes.

"They don't deserve you. And you sure as hell don't deserve the massive platter of bullshit they've been feeding you on a daily basis. That damn hospital already fucked you once, putting my job on the line as soon we were found out, but this? " He paused briefly, just looking into Robert's coffee colored eyes. "_This—_is just completely ridiculous...I think it's time for you to cut your losses."

Again, silence ensued.

Then Romano piped back up.

"Maybe you're right..."

"No, I _am _right." Benton said, running his fingers against the length of Robert's strong jawline in a gentle caress.

"I want you to join me." He was adamant, Robert had to give him that. "That hospital's full of nothing but dead ends. It's not you, Robert, that absolute _shithole_ is what ruins people. And if you're not careful, you might end up being one of them. You—..._we_ can start over from scratch."

"Who to says it won't happened again? That something won't come between us like before?" Worry plagued Robert's features again. "I don't think I could handle being without you. _Not again_."

"There may be no guarantee. But I have a reason._ A simple one_."

Peter leaned in then, capturing Robert in a passionate kiss that took his breath away and made his skin prickle. He moaned softly as it deepened, wrapping his arm around Peter, moving to lie on his side to face him completely.

When they broke apart, Peter had him fixed with a look that made his heart skip a beat, and his breath catch in his throat.

"Because I love you." He said earnestly. "I love you, and there's no way in Hell I'll ever let anything get in the way of that love again. _Especially _something County-related."

The shorter man lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully, weighing his options.

"Alright." He said finally, still staring at the ceiling. "I'll do it. I'll send in my 2 weeks notice tomorrow."

"No. You're not giving them another God damned shift." Peter said shortly.

"It'll take time for them to find a replacement, Peter. Until then...they'll need..." he sat up abruptly, his expression one of disbelief at himself.

"Wait a minute. What the _fuck _do I care?!" He yelled into the dark room, that was illuminated only by pale moonlight.

"That's the spirit!" Peter said, sitting up as well and patting the man on the back.

"So that's it then. The end of my reign at County." Said Robert, somewhat sadly. "Thought it'd end with a bigger bang than this."

"Believe me. Once you see Northwestern, you won't miss it." Peter laughed.

"Well for one thing it's got _you_, so it's gotta be good up there!" Romano joked back.

The taller man pulled him into another deep kiss, holding his head with one hand. He nudged Robert so that he was lying back down, once it broke, bringing his head down to rest over the shorter man's heart.

Peter wrapped his arms around Robert as he listened to that familiar rhythm for the first time in almost 2 years, sighing from the comfort it brought him.

"I've missed you." Robert piped up again, sincerity in his soft, smooth voice. "I've missed this. Hell, I've missed everything. Even cardio surgery with _you _would be enjoyable right now. God, I never thought I'd be saying that."

"I've missed you too. So much." Peter sighed against his chest, his hot breath making the man shudder.

They began to doze off after that. After a striking revelation, the excitement of their reunion. And before they slipped into a deep sleep on that cold November night, the strange bald man underneath Benton spoke back up.

"I love you too, Peter. Nothing could ever replace you. Not some dumb job. Not all the administrative power in the world."

Peter just held him tighter, kissing his chest before drifting off to the beat of his lover's heart.

And they all lived happily every after...

Oh, except for Kerry, who got crushed in the ambulance bay by a helicopter one week later.

...oh, and also Donald Anspaugh, who died of a violent rectal prolapse 3 _more _days later.

But...oh god..._Fast Eddie _from chapter 5 came out of the closet ANOTHER 3 days later, so it all weighed out.

FIN

**And there ya have it! The bold ending to my absolute monstrosity! See, I told you I wouldn't be ****_that _****writer and leave this thing unfinished! **

**I'd like to thank the Academy; or, more importantly, you fuckers out there who've been reading this sappy, smutty...downright ****_disturbing _****slash fiction and leaving some feedback! It's been a helluva ride, and I blame the plague for every little bit of it. And I can't wait to write some more about these two. I just keep getting these ideas on FanFiction prompts for them. I don't know why. I think the devil does it!**


	27. Epilouge

**Guess who's back, fuckers. **

**I know everything's kind of on fire right now, both figuratively and literally, but I've still been working on the latest chapter intermittently for the last week or so, and figured what the hell, at least one thing should be normal around here. **

**Not sure how many of these little epilogue chapters I'm gonna write, but I've got a few ideas and prompts swimming around my fucked up head right now, so I'll probably be typing them up every now and again. What can I say, it's my first major fic ever, I've invested at least a few hours a day for 2 or 3 month's time on this fuckin' thing, it's hard to let it go after so long!**

**Alright. I'll stop running my mouth. Go ahead and read away!**

For the first time in well over a year, our favorite little ex-surgical hero, Robert _Rocket _Romano, failed to start his morning falling off his bed in a cold sweat, awful nightmares of helicopters and severed limbs plaguing his mind as he scrambled around the floor in a haze. Nor did he wake up with that searing pain in his left arm, almost as if he'd just hit into that damn rotor, leaving a wicked open wound in place of his lost upper extremity. _No_.

This time, he was greeted with the familiar scent of his lover's cologne, and the slow, steady thumping of a heartbeat in his right ear. A tuft of feathery black chest hair tickled his nose with each breath his companion took. He opened his eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the soft morning light that now streamed through his bedroom window, coloring everything in the room with rays from the hot white sun.

The one-armed doctor raised his head slightly to meet his favorite sleeping trauma surgeon only to find two chocolate colored eyes looking right back at him, still soft from a night's rest. Robert just sort of gazed into them for a while, almost afraid that this lovely little scene was merely a dream, a delusion to distract him from his devastating reality, and he'd just wake up moments later in his cold bed all alone.

He didn't, though. Of _course _he didn't. The writer of this erotic, sappy...downright FRIGHTENING 65+ thousand word was pretty cruel when it came to their abrupt, tragic break up, but she isn't a fucking _monster._

Instead, the tall, brawny surgeon who lie in bed with him spoke, that rich velvety voice as smooth as a fresh shot of amaretto to Romano's ears.

"Morning, _Robbie_." Peter rumbled before lazily pressing a kissing the top of Robert's fat head, drawing a content sigh from the bald man as he did.

"Don't call me that, _Petey_." Robert grumbled right back in mock annoyance. "Christ, what time is it? I haven't slept this long in...oh God, what year is it?"

"Almost 9:30. We must've really tired each other out last night." The taller surgeon pointed out with a smile.

"Yeah, well, we really were quite overdue for another one of our little _discussions, _Dr. Benton."

"Very..." Peter remarked, running a hand over his chin and down his neck carefully, wincing a bit as he reached a particularly sensitive spot. "Jesus _Christ_. You got beard burn all over me!"

Romano laughed as the man lifted the sheet to gaze down at himself, only to conclude that every expanse of bare skin the weird, short man in bed with him had kissed was now covered in the same annoying, itchy rash that had popped up on his face over night.

"Oh, you think this is funny?" He whined at the bald man's amusement that was derived from his suffering. But Robert only laughed harder at Benton's grumpy face as his scowl deepened, then broke at the sight of his bald lover's bright smile and rosy colored dimples.

Peter brought a hand up to Robert's face as his fit of laughter slowly reduced to giggles, running his fingertips through the gingerbread colored hair that covered his chin, intermingled with little gray patches here and there.

"Since when did you decide to get one of _these _anyway?" He questioned the man, still admiring his scruffy salt and marmalade beard.

"I hear the ladies like it!" Romano snarked at him, still grinning at his lover. Benton took this as an opportunity to exact revenge on the bald man. He clambered on top of him while his guard was down, straddling his hips as he dug his fingers into his ribs, tickling the one armed doctor as he tried to squirm away pathetically.

"Well it just so happens that I like it quite a lot! Minus the awful rash! Does that make me a _lady_?" Peter questioned him, doubling his efforts as Romano tried to fight back with his one arm, not getting very far before he ran out of breath from his fits of laughter.

"No! Fuck off, Peter!" He yowled between uncontrollable laughter, still trying to squirm from where Peter had him pinned down. "This is assault! I swear to God, I'll scream!"

Robert gazed down to where his big gray behemoth of a dog lay on the floor, snoring away, once again uninterested in whatever her owner had gotten his ass into this time.

"Gretel, you hairy lump of fuck! Get up here and help me!" He yapped at her before Peter jabbed a spot that got him laughing too hard to beg for help as he writhed terribly, helpless against the trauma surgeon's brutal attack.

But the lazy canine on his bedroom floor merely picked her head up for a second, paying the short man just one bored glance before setting it back down on the wooden floorboards, continuing to wait patiently for her breakfast. Robert cursed as Peter lowered his head to meet his neck, blowing a big wet raspberry against where it met his jaw, only causing the former surgeon to squirm and yell even more.

Eventually, though, Peter's onslaught came to an end after a little while, his violent molesting dulled to a gentle caress of Romano's sides as he gazed once more into those coffee stained orbs. He brought one hand up to hold the bald man's face as he took in those handsome features he'd missed after so long.

Peter stroked Robert's cheek, gently grazing his pale skin through that bushy auburn beard.

"There it is," he whispered. "There's that _smile_."

"I could say the same for yourself..." Robert replied just as quietly, bringing his hand up to caress the back of Peter's head as he was pulled into a soft, loving kiss. With time, it grew more passionate, more deep, revealing the other's wants and needs that he'd had ever since that fateful day, and had just been dying to fulfill in each other's cruel absence.

Peter covered the bald man completely with his own tall, muscular form, holding his head in one hand as his knee edged up between Romano's legs. The man beneath him moaned softly into the kiss, clutching Peter's robust shoulders tightly as he spread his legs at the contact, prepared to let the man love him all over again.

They both flinched at the shrill sound of Robert's telephone, which screeched like an aggravated toddler who's parents were keeping them from buying a 500$ tablet despite the fact that they already had two at home. It rang a couple times before Peter reluctantly pulled himself off the man, allowing him to mercifully shut the offending machine up. Robert took the phone off the hook, fury covering his face, eager to find out who was on the other line so he could make them sorry they'd interrupted his precious time with Peter.

But his ears were only pierced even more as soon as the aggravated Karen on the other line began to explain herself.

"**_RAW-BERT!_**_" _Kerry squawked from where she sat, high and mighty, in Robert's former office, practically drooling at this opportunity to tear him a new one. The helicopter in my lovely little story hadn't killed her just yet.

"You were due in the ER over 3 hours ago! If you don't get your sorry ass down here in the next 10 minutes I swear to God," Oh yes, here come her two _favorite _words. "You're _fired!_" Her voice was like a set of nails on chalkboard.

Robert held the phone a good 6 inches away from his face, almost as if the thing was radioactive or something. Peter just stared at the screeching object as if it were something obscene, his rising excitement falling faster than the narrator's sanity during these trying times.

A cold shower had _nothing _on that woman.

"Awww. She _hates _you." Peter told him sweetly, careful to keep quiet as to save himself from a lecture of his own from the red headed demon. Robert stuck his tongue out at the man, before bringing the phone back to his ear, immediately regretting the decision and yanking it back away as Weaver decided to go off again.

"_Well?! _Are you gonna answer me, or should I just send you _straight _to the unemployment line?!"

And it was at that moment that Robert decided to do something that, when it comes to Kerry Weaver, you just _don't _do.

"You know what Kerry? Why don't you just shove it straight up your ass!" Robert yelled into the phone, attempting to get his usually silky, smooth voice to match the horrendously shrill noise that vaguely resembled human vocalization which was Kerry's voice.

"You just listen to me, Robert! I am your boss whether you like it or not—"

"No _you _listen to _me, _Kerry!" The bald man began indignantly, holding the telephone like an annoying Karen yelling into the bottom of her tacky iPhone 11 on speaker in a public park. The early 00s version of this, of course, with his mouth less than an inch from the receiver, the speaker pointing outward in the direction of his bedroom window in front of him.

Peter, though, was doing his absolute best to contain his laughter, his face reddening as he attempted to stifle himself with one of Robert's many decorative throw pillows.

"I've had just about enough of yours and that hospital's bullshit for an entire lifetime! I fucking _quit!_" He shouted. The feeling was to Robert like watching your favorite hockey team win the season for the first time in decades, or the sight of an entire hundred yard's worth of clean, fresh winter snow on your lawn on Christmas morning.

He swore that finally sticking it to the old broad was almost as satisfying as a discussion with Peter.

"Robert, you know damn well you can't just quit! We need someone to man the ER, so why don't you just quit kidding yourself and—"

"No, _you _quit kidding yourself, you wretched old bitch!" He was getting impatient now. "I'm sick of your shit and your stupid ER position, so you and everyone else in your little queendom can all get fucked!"

"Oh, and one last thing!" The other line went silent in complete and utter shock at the bald man's words. "That big ol' desk your sitting at? The one where you beat yourself with a little pocket rocket each and every time you belittle a colleague? Benton fucked me over that desk so hard I went blind for a straight minute after nutting all over the front drawer! Stop and think about that next time you hold a meeting in _my _office!"

And then he slammed the phone right down on the hook. Not perfectly, though. He missed a few times, and it took three or four good tries to actually set the thing back down right, so that all Weaver heard before he hung up was Robert angrily banging his phone against various spots on his nightstand.

The taller man beside him, now howling with laughter, nearly fell of the bed before wrapping an arm around his irritated bald companion to stabilize himself.

"Now...where were we?" Romano asked, as if they'd been interrupted by something small and monotonously ordinary, like a package at the door that needed to be signed for, or an untimely bathroom break.

"A _pocket rocket?!_" Peter wailed, still having yet to recover from his outburst. "Dr. Romano, you have such a way with words!"

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm _brilliant_. Now get your ass over here!" He demanded, effectively pulling Peter on top of him as best he could with one arm. The other man complied, covering him again, pulling him into another passionate kiss.

"Dr. Romano...I'm afraid we'll have to cut this particular _discussion _short." Peter mumbled against Robert's lips, causing the man beneath him to groan with despair.

"Who the fuck says?!" Robert yapped back, still clinging to Peter like a small child with his favorite toy.

"Reese says. I've gotta pick him up from Jackie's place." Peter explained, rolling off him to fetch his boxers. "I promised him I'd take him out to iHop for brunch."

"You got him back?"

"Yeah. Actually it happened to be the one good thing I got out of getting fired," Peter allowed himself a small laugh as he thought about the complete and total bust that was Roger's day in court. "As soon as they saw how much time I'd be able to spend with Reese because of my new position at Northwestern, Roger didn't stand a snowball's chance in Hell at full custody. 9-5, with weekends off. And it's quite a welcome adjustment after working your ass half off at County."

Robert gazed down for a moment, his thoughts shifting towards the young boy he hadn't seen in so long. Reese must be nearly as tall as him by now; which, if he was being honest, didn't say much.

"You think there's a snowball's chance your little munchkin still remembers me?" Robert asked quietly, more to himself than Peter.

"Are you kidding? He asks about you all the time!" The taller surgeon told him from where he was shrugging on his jeans.

"Oh yeah? And what'd you tell him?" Romano asked as he finally started to get dressed himself. "That you were only waiting for me to get knocked down to the bottom by hospital administration like a cheap Walmart piñata? He's a little young to be learning about corporate hierarchy, don't ya think Peter?"

"Actually, I told him you were taking a long vacation in Texas..." Peter said, suddenly right behind Romano, having walked around his obscenely large bed to wrap him up in his big arms, holding him from behind. Romano flinched slightly at the voice that was now right against his ear before relaxing into the touch, a little less than thrilled from the fact that Peter's sneaking abilities had continued to thrive.

"Don't worry, Robert," He rumbled, his mouth flush against the back of Robert's fat head, sending shivers down his spine. "You've still got my little man wrapped around your finger. He'll be thrilled to see you."

Robert turned his head slightly to press a kiss to Peter's cheek, smiling back at him.

"Just like his father." The bald man teased, before slipping out of Peter's grip to fetch his shirt and scurry off to feed Gretel.

_to be continued, probably_


	28. Happy Fucksgiving!

**_Well_****.**

**We started our humble journey here with this fic way back in March, when the pandemic had first started. And now it's Thanksgiving, and almost Jack shit has changed. Hell, some...okay, MOST(including me)could argue that things have actually gotten worse.**

**I have decided to update this thing for old times sake, but mostly because a new idea for a sequel chapter came to me late at night while I was half asleep. I'm still ****_entirely _****sure the devil is in control of me whenever I write ****_or _****form ideas for this mess. **

**Alright, alright. I'll fuck off. **

**Enjoy the chapter!**

'Twas late on Thanksgiving Day in the incredibly cold, world renown, really really fucking _cold _city of Chicago; to be more specific, around 9 o'clock, and by now, darkness had fallen upon the Windy City.

Light shining through the several hundred windows belonging to the skyscrapers towering above it all, as well as street lamps and car lights made up for the lack of daylight, setting the whole city aglow with their artificial gleam.

All the birds were settling in to their evening roosts...except for the _turkeys_, which had _long_ since been roasted and served on hundreds of thousands of tables belonging to grateful American families, because back in the early 00's, they weren't being bombarded with catastrophe on top of catastrophe each and every God damned month.

Families of all races, shapes, and sizes all across the country were gathered together to share but one important meal, whether they even wanted to or not, feasting and feuding. Much like your young, cynical narrator, most of these families were probably more thankful that this gluttonous, stressful holiday only takes place one day out of the year than anything else there was to offer.

And our tall, surgical DILF of the story was currently freezing his ass off, fumbling with his keys, trying desperately to manipulate his cold fingers into locking the doors of his Chevy so he could get the _fuck_ inside. And, preferably, before someone lurking in darkness could take advantage of his frenzy to leave the frigid city streets, mugging him some 50 feet away from his own front door.

Upon success, Peter literally sprinted away from his car, across the sidewalk and up the stairs, thankfully avoiding the various patches of ice that littered the area this time of year, all those morning and evening runs he'd been taking finally paying off. Just as frantically, he fumbled with that pesky key chain once more until he successfully drew his house key, taking one or two tries to jam the thing in the lock, cursing under his breath all the way.

He threw the offensive wooden contraption open and shut with rapid succession, throwing himself into the house, sighing with relief as warmth engulfed his shivering form, a direct result of the fire he'd left burning in his fireplace in order to keep the place heated in his absence. Allowing himself at last to shrug off his coat and pull off his heavy winter boots, he ambled further into the establishment.

Introduced by the progressive sound of claws scrambling against hardwood flooring, he was greeted by Robert's behemoth of a dog, coming to ensure that the bulky surgeon who'd just knocked into the house, waking her from a drawn out slumber by the fire was _not_ in fact an intruder of any kind. Once again, the bald man in question had insisted on bringing Gretel to spend yet another holiday with him and Reese, not wanting the furry, gray creature to feel left out.

Not that Peter really minded at all. By now, that big Bouvier of his had just become another thing of Robert's he'd come to love. So long as she didn't try and snag his food from off the table or try to slaughter his mailman, anyway.

He leaned down a bit, sparing Gretel a quick scratch behind her ears before he made out for the living room, seeking out a certain short, freckled doctor who could help him warm up.

"Robbie, I'm home!" Peter called out, once again using that time-honored nickname just to spite him. "Reese better be in bed. I don't care how many of those early Christmas specials he wanted to stay up and watch,"

He rounded the corner, entering the room, just a little bit surprised that the bald idiot wasn't already yapping right back at him, or running to greet him much like his dog, pulling him into their first kiss since Peter's family had gone on home.

The tall surgeon hardly thought much of it, though, as he soon acknowledged just how much he'd missed Robert in his relatively short mission to give his sister and his niece a ride back home.

"And I hope you've got your energy back!" He called out, a mischievous, toothy grin finding itself plastered to his face, his mind already pacing towards the early Christmas present he'd grabbed for Robert just the other day. "I know it's still a ways away, but... well, let's just say I got you a little stocking stuffer that'll really—"

Trailing off, he all but gawked at the scene he was met with as his chocolate-colored eyes shifted to the couch.

Peter regained even more of the body heat he'd previously lost at the sight of the _Evil, Wicked, Vindictive Rocket Romano, Reborn Terrorist of All Medical Personell(_courtesy of his new Chief of Staff position at Northwestern) sprawled out on his couch, sleeping off his 4-course Thanksgiving Dinner quite peacefully. His shoes had been knocked off along with his prosthetic, and left quite haphazardly on the floor near the large piece of furniture, but he still had on his dark brown slacks and black socks.

And of course, he was also still bundled up in the soft cashmere sweater Peter had given him not all that long ago, yet another of his early Christmas gifts meant for his short, bald lover.

Much like the aforementioned, though, the rather pricey sweater was as just as much a gift for Robert as it was for Peter. Whether they were dragging their asses to work in the morning, or just going out together, often taking long walks out to the park with Reese and Gretel, or even taking the rare chance to go out somewhere dressy for dinner—he'd gotten to see Robert pair the thing with his favored knit beanie almost every day now, fitting perfectly with his rosy red cheeks and the snowflakes that often got caught in the downy, auburn remainder of his hair...

But what really got him was the small boy curled up on top of him, his head on his chest, using Robert as a glorified pillow. Peter quickly drew the conclusion that the '_malevolent cockroach' _he knew and loved so well had probably been sitting with the boy for a while, signing him a quick story or three to get him to wind down before bed...and, more than likely to _distract _him from roping Robert in to letting him stay up an extra hour or so past his bedtime, knowing he could always wear the bald man down with puppy eyes and bargaining.

Evidently, neither of them got far enough in their routine before exhaustion set in after their big holiday, leaving them both curled up there, dead to the world.

Peter shook his head, allowing himself a quiet chuckle before circling the big leather couch, fetching a blanket from the end of it and covering the pair up, tucking them both in for the night. Bending down a bit, he kissed them both on their respective heads. He lingered a bit when he got to Robert's shiny, bald one, drifting down to press a tender kiss to his lips, moving gently as to avoid waking him up.

As Peter drew back, he couldn't help but just stand there, reveling in the sight of his reclaimed lover, holding his son like a damn Teddy Bear as he napped. What had been two long years of lost time, miscommunication, and loneliness between himself and Robert had seemed like absolutely nothing to little Reese. He didn't have a care in the world towards the bald man's abrupt departure and just as abrupt reentrance into his life, and only that he was back to stay and spoil him rotten.

The taller of the two surgeons smiled, crossing his arms as he mused, his warm, dark eyes still fixed on Robert's sleeping form. A two sided coin, he found himself thinking once again, a coin worth its weight in solid gold. He could spend all day at the hospital barking orders at nurses, antagonizing his colleagues, antagonizing _Peter _sometimes just for old time's sake, and even going out of his way to steal any and all the interesting cases that found themselves over his radar—or at the very _least_, the ones he could handle with just one arm.

Even after less than two weeks of having the new job, he could see the bald man starting to turn into his old self again. Between the fact that he once again had a position in administration, _this _time without a bunch of damn sharks trying to tear him down and his rekindled relationship with him, Peter could tell even after so much time apart that he was smiling more than he had in a long time, bossing people around and making his usual snarky comments, his coffee-stained eyes carrying a bright gleam in them wherever they went.

He really should find it annoying—especially considering the fact that he was allowed to both steal and _supervise _the surgery for a case in which some lunatic decided to swallow 10 mandarin oranges whole, _skin and all_, just because he could.

And he should find Robert quite condescending, using his new lease on life to be an evil, horrid little toad, just as he did in years past. It was like if Scrooge, fresh out of being tormented and warned by numerous apparitions decided to run to the Cratchit household and smack poor Tiny Tim square in the face with a shovel, take a nice, long piss on their kitchen table, and then buy their house with the tiny fraction of his money it was worth, _just _to fuck them.

But as he delved deeper, Peter soon found that he really didn't want his Romano to have some grand, self-righteous epiphany and start throwing bake-sales to raise money for the local church and dish out empty compliments to all his fellow hospital employees like hot soup, kissing babies and sucking up to everybody, bending right over and taking whatever anybody, including life itself, wanted to fuck him with.

Peter wasn't sure he'd even be able to recognize Romano if he _ever _got like that. The thought was enough to send shivers down his spine—and they _weren't _the same ones he'd been getting all week when he found himself with Romano on top of him, working his way down his body, his hot breath hitting his skin delightfully and his nails gently raking against smooth, dark skin as he went.

He knew, even before they fell in love, Robert was never that kind of guy. Robert could never _be _that kind of guy, even if he tried. He was bold, passionate, took any crap that got thrown at him and sent it _hurling _right back at his opponent at twice the speed. He was snarky and brusque, and under most people's definitions, those who were expecting someone personable and benign, seldom dealing anything apart from pleasantries despite his true feelings, only to be sorely disappointed—he was just plain _awful..._

But that was just the way Peter loved him. Having all those rough, despicable, _deplorable_ qualities in plain sight, all the while being a sweet, charming, _delightful _man deep, deep down.

It was the other side of him that mingled with his snarky, arrogant side that captivated Peter fully. The side that, whenever given the chance to come out led to him taking long walks by the river with the taller surgeon, or wake up early to watch cartoons with Reese. Or whenever Robert _insisted _on caring for Gretel himself, using his years upon years of medical training on the large dog rather than seek out some random vet and dump her on them without even an ounce of thought, much like anyone who didn't know him any better would expect him to.

It was _that_ side of him that kept Peter's heart in the palm of the Robert's hand. And, frankly, he wasn't to sure if he wanted the meaty, pulsating thing back.

"Peter, Honey, quit staring," Robert grumbled, squinting against the light of the living room as he abruptly stumbled out of his food coma. "Creeps me out when you do that..."

Slowly, Peter dragged himself out of his long, thoughtful reverie, realizing that the subject of interest had woken up at some point while he stood there, thawing out from his quick expedition outside. The bald man stretched a bit, extending his arm and legs as far as they could go, moving carefully to avoid waking the boy still in his lap.

"How was your nap, _Robbie?_"

"I woulda slept a lot better without you staring down at me like some sort of deranged pervert escaped from the nut house!" He yapped at him, though almost mechanically keeping a low, soft tone, despite being perfectly aware of Reese's deafness. "Did they get home okay?"

"Yeah, yeah...Jackie insisted we keep the extra couple of sweet potato pies she brought over," Benton informed him, stepping closer to where he was laying in his spot, reaching out to caress his big, bald head, playing with one of the the soft, auburn sideburns he found there, running through the soft down with his fingertips. "She really missed having you around, Robert."

"Oh really? I could hardly tell!" The balder man told him sarcastically as he leaned into Benton's touch, his eyes closing briefly, looking just about as content as your not so esteemed narrator's own cat getting pet by her favorite person. "I hardly got a chance to touch anything on my plate before she caught me, making me fill her in on everything that's happened since we split—and then some!"

The taller man chuckled, now shifting so that he was sort of half-sitting on the arm of the couch, still running his fingers against the skimpy remainder of Robert's hair.

"And she's not the only one," Benton pointed out, his gaze drifting once again to his son. His hand came around to caress the back of Romano's neck, drawing a soft sigh from the man, distracting him briefly before he answered.

"I know...I'd just got him to brush his teeth before he conked out," Romano slurred a bit, starting to sound as if he could fall right back asleep in his spot, losing himself slightly in Benton's touch as the man started to massage his neck a little. "Begged me to let him watch the rest of_ Muppet Christmas Carol _before I tucked him in—neither of us even made it another 5 minutes into the movie."

"Boy's been stuck to you like Velcro, Robbie! Usually he's glued to his Gameboy or something whenever he's got a free moment, and now lately all he's wanted is to hang out with you!" Peter smiled, internally recounting the first time they saw each other again and it took a full 5 minutes just to pry Reese off the bald doctor so they could continue on their jolly old way to iHop.

And of course the bright, toothy grin in place of the dark, miserable expression that'd been plastered to Robert's face on the cold, dark night of their own little reunion. His heart skipped a beat whenever he saw Robert smile like that, now more than ever, and no matter what mood he was in, no matter how much death and injury he'd witnessed in one day—he couldn't help but smile right along with him, all of his previous worries feeling small and insignificant compared to the joyful, bald idiot, who dragged him out of those dark moods on a biweekly basis.

Robert ran his hand over the boy's head, sighing as he thought briefly of the last week or so, a small smile spreading across his face.

"I've really missed you guys, too." He told the younger surgeon, the almost-2 fucking pounds of Thanksgiving turkey from earlier still weighing him down as his eyelids began to droop a bit, sleep still yearning to catch him in its grasp. "I really have. Between everything that's happened between us, and the accident, and..."

Robert trailed off, his gaze fixed towards the fire that blazed in front of that large leather couch, pondering their lost time, his expression unreadable, if not filled with wonder and awe, and just a little bit of anguish.

Peter rose from his spot, shifting to the floor, more or less getting down on one knee to accommodate Robert's current position on the couch. Those large yet delicate surgeon's hands came up to caress his head, framing his handsome features, his thumbs gently grazing his cheeks in a loving caress of their own.

Robert's coffee-colored eyes focused now on his tall, dark lover, his own hand coming up to hold the back of Peter's own.

"Those couple of years were pretty tough, Robert. Obviously a lot more so for _you _than me," he told the one armed doctor, all traces of levity and lightheartedness from earlier in his gaze fading away. "I wish I could have been there for you...I really do. And not to mention the fact that I really wish I still coulda' been at Cook County to tell Anspaugh where he could shove all his ideas of chucking your whole career into a blazing dumpster fire."

Romano let out a small laugh at the idea of Peter sticking it to one of his own mentors for him, the one who'd known him since he was a wide-eyed, surgery-hungry dweeb of a little surgical resident, possibly earning himself one helluva suspension on top of giving Anspaugh a fucking aneurysm.

"But at least we've still got the rest of our lives ahead of us. And you have to admit, they've already started off pretty great,"

"Yeah, especially when you're looking at my 5 minutes at Northwestern!" The balder man yapped, that pensiveness beginning to dissolve a bit as that smile grew back on him like the narrator's well-watered succulent plant, affectionately named after Kentucky Senator Mitch McConnell. "It's been 5 days and not once have I seen someone stranded in the E.R. for 6 hours, waiting to be taken up for surgery! Nor have I seen anyone taking a shit on the floor, looking you straight in the eye, right in the middle of the _lobby _for everyone to admire!"

The two broke out in laughter now as they lovingly and sentimentally recalled their most favorite parts about their beloved County hospital, and all the loving memories they made there.

"Did I ever tell you about the time this one patient held me hostage in Exam 4 with a butternut squash?!" Peter howled, sitting back on his legs from his spot on the floor, clutching his gut now as his laughter grew just a bit less controllable. "Took security a whole hour to break the fucking door down! She kept hitting me with the damn thing, fully convinced my surgical consult was just a cover, and that I was really there to harvest her organs for extra cash!"

"You'd think with all the absolute head cases they roll in and outta there they'd at _least _lay off a few of those good for nothing drag-asses for some extra security!" Robert argued, those cheeks of his now red and rosy as he now pictured his poor Petey, used to nothing but the mechanical normality of the surgical floor, getting beat up by some crazy fuck while some _other _guards who _clearly _don't get paid enough are banging on the door. "Did I ever tell you about the time I got held at gunpoint by an 8-year-old who stole his grandmother's revolver?!"

The taller surgeon took this opportunity to one-up his bald companion, one of the only few he ever got nowadays.

"Sounds almost as crazy as the time I got chased from the Suture Room all the way to the cafeteria by some crazyass wielding a syringe!" Benton countered, leaning heavily against the side of the couch in his sort of half-kneeling position, doing his best not to fall on the floor as the long day he'd had, combined with the unholy amount of food in his system _and_, quite possibly, the glass or two of Pinot all began to make him feel overtired and giddy, and as if _everything _they said in that moment was downright hilarious.

Robert proved to be in a like state, the various jocularities of the night waking him right back up again, the corners of his eyes crinkled a bit and his freckles really being brought out by the contrast of his face, now flushed with an almost crimson blush as Benton piped right back up.

"Quit laughing! It was actually really traumatic for me!" He yapped, not looking even a little bit traumatized at all by the whole ordeal. "The worst part was nobody even tried to save me! Just one lousy security guard who tripped over an emesis basin! I'm pretty sure I sprinted past Elizabeth on the way, and she didn't even look up!"

Both physicians were inconsolable now, and Robert had to strain not to laugh too hard and wake Reese, or knock him off the couch completely from his outburst.

The bald doctor's efforts proved useless, though, as Peter eventually fell right over, his head landing a mere 3 or 4 inches away from the hearth, the boiling flames right behind him finally sobering him up a little bit as he worked to clamber back upright. That got him laughing hard enough for to disturb the young boy's slumber, and he sat up a bit in Robert's lap, rubbing his eyes with one hand, evidently as groggy as a hooker after a basement heroin party. No doubt, homemade sweet potato pie had proven to be one helluva drug.

Just then, the phone rang, screeching incessantly from where it sat on the hook, sounding not unlike an annoying old Facebook bitch named Becky who _regularly _writes 5-8 paragraph arguments on why her sweet, _precious _little cherubs should be able to attend school without any of those _toxic _vaccines—or, Hell, even a lousy Flintstone Vitamin.

"Better go get that. Might be Jackie, maybe she forgot something over here," Peter told him, mostly wondering aloud as he shook himself from their brief fit of merriment. "You'll get him settled?"

Robert had since sat up from what he thought, after binge session like that, would've been his final resting place, attending to a now-wide awake Reese who was begging to be carried upstairs, lazily signing to him about wanting to go up to bed.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got him. He doesn't look like he's gonna last long at all," he told the tallest of them as he scooped Reese up in his arm, pulling them both off the couch and starting towards the stairs.

And it wasn't all that much longer before Robert re-emerged from the second floor of that roomy Chicago abode he knew and loved, only to be met with the sight of his favorite surgical prodigy sitting on the couch, gazing into the fire with wide eyes, looking almost as if he'd been slapped in the face by an ex-wife or two who'd just proclaimed to be well on their way to taking every last dime from him, as well as every piece of furniture and even the _dog _in their divorce settlement.

"Jesus, Peter. Who died?" Romano pressed, those few words dripping with the pleasant airiness of his own mood from the day's events.

Benton barked out a long, humorless laugh now, shaking his head as if in complete and total disbelief.

"Funny you should say that..." he began, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to collect himself in preparation to accept the penny Romano had dealt him for his thoughts.

"I just got off the phone with Elizabeth. Kerry Weaver just died in some freak helicopter accident..." Benton trailed off for a moment, his expression still one of complete and utter shock and confusion, looking as if even he didn't believe the words that just spilled out of his own damn mouth.

"Actually I think she might have been a quite drunk while she was explaining the whole thing to me...but from what I could make of it someone picked a fight with her over the course of treatment for some rich hot-shot that came in today. She stepped out into the ambulance bay to cool down, keep from firing them on the spot when the thing had some sort of...mechanical malfunction. Started acting up, fell sideways off the roof and..._splat,"_

Whether it was the pure poetic justice of the entire situation, or just Peter's oh-so _eloquent _use of the word '**_splat' _**that got Robert straining once again to not start laughing at the whole story, the bald man had no idea.

For a moment, they said nothing, and the room was silent with the exception of wood crackling and spitting in the fireplace as the flames died down for the night, the coals within glowing with a vibrant, tangerine hue.

"Oh..." Robert said thoughtfully, his eyes glued to some random spot on the floor as he tried _desperately _not to think of the word _splat _as he conjured up some words to say on the matter. Sure, he may lack quite a bit of the necessary human decency for situations like these, but if nothing else, the _Honorable, Prestigious, City-Renowned Rocket Romano_ knew better than to just laugh at Peter's tragic story outright like that, no matter how much the irony was burning him like V.D. right now.

"That's...that's really awful, Peter. God," Robert kept his voice level with an element of poise and grave sincerity he never even knew he had in him before. "Poor Kerry."

"Yeah, it's a shame." Peter concurred. "One helluva way to go."

Again, silence. With the exception of Gretel yawning quite noisily somewhere off in the depths of that living room.

"Well, I'm gonna go up and get ready for bed," the bald man informed him, almost as if he'd just been told of some minor traffic inconvenience they were gonna have to conquer in order to get to work in the morning. Or a stray cat puked on the hood of his black Jag, and it froze there, doomed to spend at least a few days worth of driving plastered to the thing.

"You can sit here for as long as you need to and...process this traumatic news of yours," Peter looked at him with a curious look on his face, both proud and horrified at just how low Robert could stoop sometimes.

"When you need me, I'll be in your room, in bed, in my socks..." Robert started up the stairs before intentionally turning around again when he got to the second or third step, eyeing Peter with quite a glint in those dark, almost _black_, beady eyes of his.

"_Just _my socks." 

It only took him 5 more seconds, after he heard Robert trudge all the way up those hard, wooden steps and towards his bedroom before Peter shot right up, determined to catch up with him, ready to forget about Kerry Weaver and whatever bullshit she's gotten herself into now and stuff something a whole lot different than turkey on this most blessed, special holiday.

**TBC**

**Okay so OBVIOUSLY two things are quite obvious right now; 1–Kerry Weaver is in the leads of my fictional character shit list, and B—this was supposed to come out well over a week ago. **

**Well, what can I say? Shit happens...and by shit, I mean more specifically a fucking bacterial infection that had me laid up, popping antibiotics like those old school PEZ candies and bargaining with God. So, naturally, this thing got delayed just a little bit. **

**Stay tuned for s'more season 10 chapters. **

**Or don't. **

**I don't get paid for this shit either way. **

**Toodles 3**


End file.
